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The Wayside from the road 




The old Manse, built in 1765, where Hawthorne lived for three years and where he wrote the "Mosses from an Old Manse" 



TRANSCENDENTAL LOG 

FRESH DISCOVERIES IN NEWSPAPERS CONCERNING 

EMERSON, THOREAU, ALCOTT AND OTHERS 

OF THE AMERICAN LITERARY RENAISSANCE, 

ARRANGED ANNUALLY FOR HALF A CENTURY 

FROM 1832 

By 
KENNETH WALTER CAMERON 




TRANSCENDENTAL BOOKS— DRAWER 1080— HARTFORD 06101 



COPYRIGHT 1973 BY 
KENNETH WALTER CAMERON 





PREFACE 

The publication of Emerson , Thore au 
and Concord in Early Newspapers (1958) 
met with so much encouragement and so 
quickly went out of print that I here 
am bold to offer a sequel that may, in- 
deed, prove more useful to American 
Renaissance scholarship than that vol- 
ume, because I have herein drawn upon 
fresh resources preserved deeper within 
the circle of the Concord writers. No 
one who has tried to reproduce old news- 
print from crumbling folios or retrieve 
clarity from paste-ups disfigured by an- 
cient glue will have to be reminded 
that what we here present in usable form 
is a technological achievement. If he 
have any doubt on this score, let him 
try a little expensive experimenting 
with mid-nineteenth-century originals! 

The key to the former compilation 
was a terminal index, made necessary be- 
cause the clippings were organized in no 
pattern beyond the helter-skelter of 
their scrapbook sources. The chronologi 
cal arrangement in this one makes an in- 
dex less necessary because contexts are 
emphasized rather than isolated facts-- 
best results accruing to those who will 
read or skim entire sections. Because 
discoveries await the beginner or speci- 
alist herein, I commend the volume, con- 
vinced that no perusal need be disap- 
pointing. 



K. W. C. 



Summer, 1973. 



1832 



LITERARY NOTICES. 



POEMS BT WILLIAM CtJLLEN BRYANT. 
An edition of Mr. Bryant's collected poem» has been so generally 
called for, that the publication of the present volume may be con- 
sidered rather a compliance with the universal wish, than an ex-J 
periment attended with an author's usual hopes and fears. Many i 
of the pieces of which it consists have, long since, passed the 
ordeal, and been circulated and treasured up till, we venture to say, 
there are but few readers of poetry unable to repeat from memory 
passages from " Thanatopsis,'' the " Waterfowl," the " Evening 
wind," or " Green river." These, and ot hers from the same source, 
have been so long floating about the world, marred by typographical 
errors, some without a name, and some, after having sunned them- 
selves in the light of British favor, ushered back to the notice of our 
countrymen, as the offsprings of the best among the foreign poets, 
that those who take pride in our own rapidly growing literature, 
might well inquire why these among its brightest ornament* should 
be left thus scattered. We have at length in our hand, the long 
desired collection, carefully revised by the author ; and though we 
sat down to peruse it at a late hour of the evening, and when 
"The timely dew of sleep 

Now railing with soft slumberous weight inclines 

Our eye-lids," 

the clock has told twelve — one — two, and we have been led on, 
like Ferdinand, in Prospero's island, by strains not to be resisted. 
The subjects which Mr. Bryant has chosen, and upon which 
he has written at long intervals, and his manner of viewing them, 
are, perhaps, although he himself may be unconscious of it, uni- 
formly and strongly characteristic of one fcpling — melancholy; 
deep, all-pervading, sensitive melancholy. It is, however, of the 
highest and noblest kind. Byron also wrote under the influence of 
melancholy, but of a most opposite nature — powerful, but not plea- 
sant and touching to the reader. We admire and tremble, but can- 
not sympathize. It has neither hope, morality, reason, nor religion. 
We turn from his page excited, not instructed. He not only com- { 
plains — he blasphemes. There is no gentle philosophy in his 
nature, by which he is enabled, when the tempest of grief it on > 
him, to wait cheerfully till the thunder shall cease to bellow, and 
the clouds break away from the azure, and the golden sunlight | 
stream down on plain and valley ; but, with the spirit of Lucifer, ' 
he braces himself up against the elements, and fate itself; and he 
reminds us of that fallen spirit, " vaunting aloud, but racked with 
deep despair," on his entrance into the infernal regions : 

" Hall, horrors ! hall, 
Infernal world ! and thou, profoundest hell. 
Receive thy new possessor, one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time : 
The mind is Its own place, and In itself 
Can make a heaven of bell, a hell of heaven. 
What matter where, if I be still the same, 
And what I should be, all bat less than he 
Whom thunder has made greater! Here at least 
We shall be free," &c. 

Neither is the turn of Mr. Bryant's poetry similar to that of poor 
Keats. The grief of that unfortunate young writer is touching, 
also, but unmanly ; and while we pity him, we wonder at his too 
early and unnecessary self-abandonment. His sensitiveness is a dis- 
ease. In his darkness there is no relief— it is not twilight, but 
night. " I can already," said he, "feel the flowers growing over 
me." This is poetry, but it is also despair. The melancholy of 
the poems which we are considering, is a different spirit. She 
hashes mirth, but not happiness. She is to be found, not in dark 
places brooding, but amid the loveliest and richest creations of na- 
ture. If she seek the storm, it is to behold it roll away. She flies 
from men, but does not hate them ; and if tears are sometimes on 
her cheeks, they tremble there but a brief time, and smiles glitter 
through them as they pass away. She is dearer than merriment, 
and holier than triumph. She is the companion of a mind too 
finely organized to live contentedly amidst the jostling of crowds; 
bat, at the same time, gifted with power to rise fan-above them. 
A* an evidence of this feature in Mr. Bryant's compositions, take 
his verses on June. How many unbidden associations leap up at 
the word I What is sweeter than June's breath — brighter than her 
leaves — lovelier than her flowers and sky — merrier than the voice 
that rings through all her woods 1 We look for a carol now of 





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1832 

living joy, of forest rambles, of daybreak upon the hills and river. 
Bat observe of how different a character are the poet's thoughts. 
We do not remember to have read a more artless, Under, and per- 
fectly beautiful composition. 

jr/ws. 
"I gazed upon the glorious sky 

And the green mountains round ; 
And thought, that when I canv; to lie 

Within the silent ground, 
Twere pleasant, that, in flowery June, 
When brooks sent up a cheerful tunc, 

And groves a Joyous sound, 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green, mountain turf should break. 
** A cell within the frozen mould, 

A coffin borne through skrt, 
And ley clods above it rolled, 

While fierce the tempest* best- 
Away! I will nol think of these — 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, 

Earth greeu beneath the feet, 
And be the damp mould gently prest 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

"There, through the long, long summer hours, 

The golden lighi should lie , 
And thick young hubs and groups of flowers, 

Hi. aid in their beauty by. 
The oriole should build tod tell 
His love tale, close beside my cell ; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming bird. 
" And what, if cheerful sbouts, at noon, 

Come from the village sent. 
Or songs of maids, beneath tbemooo, 

With fairy laughter blent 
And what it, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument. 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know no sadder sight nor sound 
" I know, I know I should not see 

The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for me. 

Nor its wild mimic flow : 
But, if around my place of sleep. 
The friends 1 love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 
Foft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 
"These to their softened hearts should bear 

The thought of what has been, 
And speak of one who cannot share, 

The gladness of the scene : 
Whose part in all the pomp that fills 
The circuit of the summer hills, 

lo—that his grave is gre«n ; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear, again, his living voice." 
This same pensiveness, mingled with contentment, *mm* a lux- 
ury to him, and runs through nearly all his pieres. The " Even- 
ing wind" leads him to the shutting flowers— the faint old man 
leaning his silver head to feel it, and to the invalid's bed ; bnt it 
comes to cool his brow, and passes away to its " birth-place of the 
deep once more," floating to the senses of the home-sick mariner 
" sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange." Always a light 
shines in to tinge his loneliest sadness : he discovers something to 
admire and be grateful for, in all events and objects ; even death it- 
self comes to him clothed with a thousand softening associations. 

Another curious and beautiful example is to be found in the 
" Indian girl's lament." The mind is filled with delightful thoughts 
by the number of touching and delicate circumstance* and senti- 
ments expressed, and by the melody of the language. The reader 
will not overlook the exquisite image in the verse preceding the list 

THE INDIAN OIKL's LA STENT. 

"An Indian girl was sitting where 

Her lover, slain in battle, slept ; 
Her maiden veil, her own black hair, 

Came down o'er eyes that wept; 
And wildly, In her woodland tongue," 
This sad and simple lay she sung : 

"I've pulled sway the shrubs that grew 

Too close above thy sleeping bead, 
And broke the forest boughs that threw 

Their shadows o'er thy bed. 
That shining from the sweet southwest 
The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest. 
" It was a weary, weary road 

That led thee to the pleasant coast. 
Where thou, in his serene abode, 

Hast met thy father's ghost; 
Where everlasting autumn lies 
On yellow woods and sunny skies. 
"Twas I the broidered mocsen made; 

That shod thee for that distant land ; 
Twas I thy bow and arrows laid 



1832 

Beeide thy still, cold hand ; 
Thy bow in many a battle bent, 
Thy arrows never vainly sent 

"With wampum belts I crossed thy breast. 

And wrapped thee In the bison's hide, 
And laid the food that pleased thee best, 

In plenty by thy side, 
And decked thee bravely, as became 
A warrior of Illustrious name. 
"Thnu'rt happy now, for thou hast past 

The long dark journey of the grave, 
And in the land of light, at last, 

Hast joined the good and brave : 
Amid the flushed and balmy air, 
The bravest and the loveliest there, 
" Yet, oft thine own dear Indian maid 

Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray, 
To her who sits where thuu wen laid, 

And weeps the hours away, 
Yet almost can her grief forget, 
To think that thou dost love her yet. 
"And thou, by one of those still lakes 

That In a shining cluster lie, 
On vhiehthe sou/A trind scarcely breaks 

The image of the sky, 
A bower for thee and me hast made 
Beneath the many colored (hade. 
" And thou dost wait and watch to meet 

My spirit sent to join the blest, 
And, wondering what detains my feet 

Prom the bright land of rest, 
Dost seem, In every sound, to hear 
The rustling of my footsteps near. 
The " Burial-place, a fragment," aftd* having regretted the 
abandonment of the custom once so prevalent in England, of adorn- 
ing grave-yards with shades and blossoms, and strewing the tombs 
with flowers, closes thus with, it is true, a mournful image, but 
how beautiful ! 

"Yet here 
Nature, rebuking the neglect of man. 
Plants often, by the ancient mossy stone, 
The briar rose, and upon the broken turf 
That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry vine 
Sprinkles itssuell with blossoms, and lays lorLh 
Her ruddy, pouting fruit," 
There arc several pieces of considerable length, which we have 
purposely hurried over, as familiar to our readers, many of them 
having already appeared in this journal. "Thanatopsis,"the "Wa- 
terfowl," the " Forest hymn," the " Summer wind," the "Song of 
Marion's men," are among the number. It would be superfluous to 
speak of their uncommon merit. Another characteristic of our au- 
thor's effusions is their pure, quiet simplicity and nature. They 
affect you, after a perusal of the productions of many others, as a 
ramble into the country from the glare, splendor, and artificial ex- 
citement of the town — when meadow, hill, and river spread away 
beautifully around, and the freshened air comes scented and cool from 
the fields. No effort is required to understand them. His ideas are ex- 
pressed in few words, selected with taste, and a full knowledge of all 
their different shades, force, and meaning, and arranged with skill, 
but without ostentation. His thought is never encumbered, but his 
style is delightfully perspicuous and graceful. If occasionally a rough 
line ripples the perfect smoothness of the veree, or a word appears 
for which a better might have been substituted, we must either as- 
cribe it to intention, or the error of the press. To the latter, we 
presume, are owing the obscurity in the opening of the tevent \ 
veree of the " Indian girl's lament," and the trifling tautology, in 
the last of the annexed otherwise perfect stanzas : 

" 1 BROKE TBB SPELL TUT HELD MS LOSS." 

" I broke the spell that held me long, 

The dear, dear witchery of song. 

1 said, the poets' Idle lore 

Shall waste my prime of years no more; 

For poetry, though heavenly born, 

Consorts with poverty and scorn. 

" I broke the spell— nor deemed its power 

Could fetter me another hoar. 

Ah, thoughtless I bow cooJd I forget 

Its causes were around me yell 

For wheresoe'er I looked, the while, 

Was nature's everlasting smile. 

"Still came and lingered on my sight 

Of flowers aud stars the bloom and light. 

And glory of the ttart and ran ; 

And these and poetry are one. 

They, ere the world had held me long, 

Recalled me to the love of song." 

There is some fine poetry in the translations ; but we infinitely pre- 
fer the pieces from our author's own pen. We had marked the fol- 
lowing as the best, which we afterwards perceived by the notes, is 
acknowledged as rather an imitation than a translation. 

LOVE A.VD POLLT— PSOM LA POUT A DTE. 

" Love's worshippers alone csn know 
The thousand mysteries that are his ; 

His blazing torch, bis twanging bow, 
His blooming age are mysteries. 



1832 

A charming science — bat the day 

Were all too short to con it o'er; 
So take of me this little lay, 

A aample of its boundless tort. 
"As once, beneath the fragrant shade 

Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air, 
The children, Love and Folly, played 

A quart el rose betwixt the pair, 
love *aid the gods should do him right- 
But Polly vowed to do it then, 
Andslruck bim.o'er the orbs of sight, 

So herd, he never saw again. 
" His lovely mother's grief was deep, 

She called for vengeance on the deed 
A beauty does not vainlv weep, 

Nor coldly does a mother plead. 
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss 

That fills the dwellers of the skies : 
Even stony liearle<l Nemesis, 

And Radamanthus, wiped their eyes. 
"' TVhold.'she said, 'this lovely boy,' 

While sti earned afresh her graceful tears, 
' Immortal, yet shut out from Joy 

And sunshine, all his future years. 
The child can never take, you see, 

A single nop without a stafi*— 
The harshest punishment woold be 

Too lenient for the crune by half.' 
"All said that Love bad suffered wrong, 

And well that wrong should be repaid ; 
Then weighed the poblic interest long, 

And long the party's interest weighed. 
And thus decreed the court above— 

' Since Love Is blind from Polly's blow, 
Let folly be the guide of Love, 

Where'er the boy may choose to go.' " 
Three or four pieces are of a lighter character than those already 
quoted s " A meditation on Rhode Island coal," " To a mosqueto," 
" Spring in town," &c. We copy a song, most gracefully written : 

" Dost thou idly ask to hear 

At what gentle seasons 
Nymphs relent, when lovers near 

Press the tenderest reasons 1 
Ab, they give their faith too oft 

To the careless wooer; 
Maidens' hearts are always soft. 

Would that men's were truer ! 
" Woo the fair one. when around 

Early birds are singing , 
When, o'er all the fragrant ground, 

Early herbs are springing ; 
Wken the brookside, bank, and grove, 

AU with blossoms laden. 
Shins with beauty, breathe of love, 

Woo the timid maiden 
" Woo her, when, with rosy blush, 

Summer eve is sulking ; 
When, on rills that softly gush, 

Stars are softly winking ; 
When, through boughs that knit the bower, 

Moonlight gleams are stealing ; 
Woo her, ull the geMjehoiir 

Wake a gentler feeling 
"Woo her, when anlnmna! dyes 

Tinge the woody mountain ; 
When the dmpping foliage lies, 

In thechokedup fountain; 
Let the scene, that tells how fast 

Youth is passing over, 
Warn her, ere her bloom is past. 

To secure her lover." 

We reluctantly refrain from further extracts, and lay aside the 
volume, with the conviction that its destiny will be a high one. It 
will be cherished at home, as a thing to be proud of, and will go 
abroad as an offering honorable to the country. 



THE SIXW-VORK ItXZBJIOR. 

Borras bt oeoeoe p. hobeis, tbeodobe s. pat, and hatbajttel p. wilus. 
SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 1831 pigs) 231 

Portrait of Washington Irving. — We intended, as p rev i ou sl y 
announced, to have embellished this number with « very superior 
steel engraving of Washington Irving, by Hatch and Smillie. But 
that not being quite finished, we think this a proper opportunity to 
publish the view of Wall-street, mentioned in our prospectus as the 
only one on copper to appear in the present volume, all the others 
being on steel. The likeness of Mr. Irving, respecting which we 
an pleased to observe so much interest manifested, wUl be ready 
in the course of a month. 



1835 



1835 



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QUARTER CARD OF DISCIPLINE AND STUDIES IN SIT*. ALCOTTS SCUOOL FOR TUB SPRING TERM CURRENT lS3d 




TUI TCmoi 1.50 Bl>CIPLI!tS lit It-DSb-tD IX MI PK0P0ETI05 To Till TUKEIPOLD KlTCU OP CHILDBOOD 



TIIE SPIRITUAL FACXTTT. 



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«UM op its on. in a lii it 

1. LiU'iiir u> fUtn-J Readinr*. 
1 r»u>fnu>.ii on tho L.O=fLL8. 

5. Wriuaf Joarnala. 

4. Self-Anal. n. and Self-Dbx-tpUne. 

A l.iMrnm*- lo Iteadinra from Hcfti of GenJu 

6. Muurea to Stud/ and Actio*. 

7. d»nnianl of the school. 



TIIE_IMAG1SATIVE FACULTT. 
HL1IS OP ITS DIBZCT CtlTl BI_ 

1. *j*;iiof: and Readinr. 

2. Wrrinr and e-kett-uliir from Natore. 

3. IVlureaoue Genrrmph*-. 

i- Wrtri.iff J.'umalaand i-pUlJes. 
o. Illustrating- Horda. 
ft. Li»ici.inr u Itaadinra. 

7. (. oneeraation. 



TIIE RATIONAL FACULTT. 



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S. Mf-Aniltiu. 

4 Arithmetic 

J. fctudr of the III MAN BODY. 

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TEKilE No. 7, MARCH '« L83sV 




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JJL 



VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF MR. ALCOTTS SCHOOL-ROOM. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

An edi i ion of Mr. Emerson's remarkable ' E»- 
•art' ba» jutt been published in London, under 
the editorial supervision of TnuM as Cabxtlc, 
who, lo Lis Prefaco, thus speaks of the Essayist 
and bis writings: 

The namo of Ralph Waldo Emerson is not en- 
tirely new in England: distinguished travelers 
bring us tidings of such a man ; fraction* of his 
writings have foand thoir way into the hands of the 
carious here; fitful hints that there is, in New- 
England, some spiritual notability called Emerson, 
glide through Reviews and Magazines. Whether 
these hints were true or not, readers are aow to 
judge for themselves a little better. 

Emerson's writings and speaking amount to 
something: — and yet hitherto, as seems to me, this 
Emerson is perhaps far less notabla for what he 
has spoken or done, than for '.he many things he 
baa not spokca and has forborne to do. With un- 
common interest I have learned that this, and in 



suck a never-resting locomotive country too, is one 
of those rare men who have withal the invaluable 
talent of silting still ! That an educated man of 
good gifts and opportunities, after looking at tho 
public arena, an J trying, not with ill success, what 
its tasks and prizes might amount to, should retire 
for long yearn into rustic obscurity ; and, amid the 
ail-pervading jingle of dollars and loud chattering 
of ambitions and promotions, should quietly', with 
cheerful deliberateaess, sit down to spend hit life 

not in Mammon worship, or the hunt for reputa- 
tion, influences, place, or any outward advantage 
whatsoever ; this, when wo get notice of it, is a 
thing really worth noting. As Paul Louis Cour- 
rier said : — ' Ce qui me distingue de tous mes eon- 
temporains e'est que je n'ai pas la pretention 
d'etre.' ' All ray contemporaries' — poor contem- 
poraries ! It is as if the man said: Yes, ye con- 
temporaries, be it known to you, or let it remain 
unknown. There it is one man who does not need 
to be a king ; king neither of nations nor of par- 
ishes or cliques, nor even of cent-pcr-annum ; nor 



N.Y. Tribune. 11-20-41, p. 1. 



indeed ef any thing at all save himself only. ' Re- 
alities V Yes, your dollars aro real ; so are part- 
nership'!, senatorships, celebrations, reputations, 
and the wealth of Rothschild : but to me, on the 
whole, they aro not the reality that will suffice. — 
To mo, without same othor reality, they are mock- 
ery, and amount to zero, nay, to a negative quan- 
tity. ETirtriiTiis surround this god-given life of 
mine; what will all tho dollars in creation do for 
met Dollars, dignities, senate addresses, review 
articles, gilt couches or cavalcades, with world- 
wide huzzaing* and parti-colercd beef-eaters never 
so many : O Heaven, what were all these 1 Bo 
hold, ye shall havit all these, and I will endeavor 
for a thing other than theue. Behold, wo will en- 
tirely agree to difl'er in this matter; I to be in your 
eyos nothing, you to bo something, to be much, to 
be (ill things : — wherefore, adieu in God's name ; 
go ye that way, I go this ! — Pity that a man, for 
such cause, should be so distinruished from all 
bis contemporaries! It is a misfortune partly of 
these our peculiar times. Times and nations of 
any strength have always privately held in them 
many inch men. Times and nations that hold 
aooe or few of swh, may indeed seen to theav 



1841 

selves strong and great, but are only bulky, loud ; 
no heart or solidity in them -.—great, as the blown 
bladder is which by and by will collepse and be- 
come small enough. 

For myself 1 have looked over with no com- 
mon feeling to this brave Emerson, seated by his 
rustic hearib, on the other side of the ocean (yet 
not altogether parted from me either,) silently 
communing with bis own soul, and with the God * 
World it finds itself alive in yonder. Pleasures of 
Virtue, Progrees of ih< Species, Black Emancipa- 
tion, New Tarif, Eclecti.ism, L^co-FccoLsm, ghost 
of Imprnved Socinianism : these with many other 
ghosts and substances, are squeaking, jabbering, 
according to their capabilities, around this man ; 
to one man among the sixteen millions thf irjabber 
is all unmusical. The silent voices of Hfc stars 
above, and of the green Earth beneath, are pre- 
fitabler to him— tell him gradually thai these oth- 
ers are but ghosts which will shortly have to van- 
ish ; that tbe Life-Fountain these proceed out of 
do not vanijh ! The words ef such a man, what 
words he finds good to 6peak, ore worth attending 
to. .By degrees a small circle of living souls eager 
to hear is gathered. T. e silence of t!,i» man has 
to become speech : may this, toe, in iu due sea- 
ion, prosper for him ! — Emerson has gone to lec- 
ture, various times, to tpec'al audiences, in Boa- 
ton, and occasionally elsewhere. Three of those 
Lectures, already printed, are known to some 
here ; as the little pamphlet called ' Nature,' ef 
somewhat earlier date. It may be said a great 
meaning lies in these pieces, which as yet finds ao 
adequate expression for itself. A note-worthy 
though very unattractive work, moreover, 1* that 
new periodical they call ' The Dial,' in which he 
occasionally writes ; which appears^ indeed gene- 
rally to be imbued with his way of 'thinking, and 
to proceed from the circle that leainsof him. The 
present little volurre of ' Essays,' printed in Bos- 
ton a few months ago, is Emerson's first book, an 
unpretending little book, composed probably in 
good part, from mere lectures which already lay 
written. It affords us, on several sides, in such a 
manner as it can, a direct glimpse into the man 
and that spiritual world of his. 

[p. 3] 



B5* Ralph Waldo Emcksoh delivers a Course 
•f Eight Lectures oa ' Tut Times ' at Boston, 
commencing on the 2d of Deoember. la not Mr. 
Emersoa to lecture here this winter? If not, it 
■will be a great mistake on the part of our Com- 
mittees of Arrangements, and a loss to our lecture- 
hearers. 



The Bible Conventi on* — 
R. Waldo Emerson, k, Bron- 
son A-lcot, Maria W. Chap- 
man, and Edmund Qluincy 
the committee appointed at 
a meeting held in the Char- 
don-street Chapel on the 
28th of Oct. last, hare 
called "a Convention to be 
styled 'the Bible Conven- 
tion,' for the public 
discussion of the credu- 
lity and authority of the 
Scriptures of the Old and 
New Testaments," and in- 
vite all persons disposed 
to take part in this dis- 
cussion to meet at the Ma- 



sonic Temple, in Boston, 
on the 29th of March, for 
that purpose. 

Concord Freeman , 1-7-42 



ILf Mr. Emerson's First Lecture of his Course 
on ' The Times ' at the Society Library on Thurs- 
day evening considered mainly the Intellectual cha- 
ractcrand tendencies ef our age, as developed in the 
ceaseless struggle of the Reform spirit with the 
giant forco of Conservatism, entrenched between 
the Andes and the Hirumaleh, with the Atlantic 
and Pacific for Us ditches. To this overwhelming 
force. Reform opposes the principle of Love, ' puts 
it out of countenance, of reason and temper, and 
leaves it nothing but silence and possession.' 

' The Times are the masquerade of the Eterni- 
ties.' But in speaking of the Age, you speak not 
abstractly — you mean your own platoon of people, 
as Milton and Dante painted in colossal their pla- 
toons, and called them Heaven and Hell. In our 
idea of Progress, we do not think peas will be 
greener or grass sweeter, but only that our relation 
to our fellows will be simpler and happier. Per- 
sons are the Age to Persons : they are the results 
of the Past ; they are the heralds of the Future. — 
Thoughts are the pungent instructors who thrill 
the hearts of each of us. There is no place or in- 
stitution so poor and withered but if a new and 
strong Man could be born into it he would imme- 
diately redeem and replace it- 
Mr. E. proceeded to maintain that if our Age 
could be portrayed as it is — if we could paint the 
painters — souls of as lofty port as any in Greek or 
Roman fame might appear — men of great heart, 
and strong hand, and soft, persuasive speech, as 
well as fragments and hints of men — bloated promi- 
ses, which end in nothing. We should see men in 
advance of tbe rest, quite beyond the general sym- 
pathy, yet predicting what shall soon be genera], 
as, when on the seashore the tide is rising, a wave 
comes up the beach far beyond any before it ; it 
recedes, and for a time none reaches so high; but 
soon the sea is there, and beyond it. 

To-Day is a king in disguiso. To-Day always 
looks trivial to the thoughtless, in the face of a 
uniform experience that all great and happy ac- 
tjoss are made up of these same blank To-Days. 
Let us unmask the king as he passes. Let as Con- 
sider earnestly the limes in which we live. Here 
is first tbe great army of those who accept tbe 
Church and State of the last generation, and stand 
upon the argument of Possession. These have 
better reason than is commonly stated. No Burke, 
no Metternich, has yet done full justice to the side 
of Conservatism. But this class, however large, 
rests on an instinct, not on an argument, and the 
individuals have no attraction for us. It is the 
dissenter, the theorist, tbe ardent youth who is 
leaving thin ancient d.main to embark on seas of 
adventure, who commands our interest. These 
most share the life of the time; to these, i r any 
where, we look for Hope and Progress. " e may 
consider them in two class** — as Actars and as 
Students. 

Mr. Emerson proceeded to exhibit and criticise 
the present as an age of projects of Reform in all 
institutions. These have a value as the discipline 
and education of the public mind. The discus- 
siens of Slavery, Anti-Masonry, Temperance, the 
Banks, Tariff, Executive Power, the treatment of 



1842 

the Indians, are all pregnant with ethical conclu- 
sions There is a perfect chain of Reforms emerg- 
ing from the surrounding dullness— • complete 
choir of Reformers, each cherishing some part of 
the general idea ; and all must be seen in order to 
do justice to any one. Seen in this, their natural 
connexion, they are sublime. The Conscience of 
the Age is with them ; it demonstrates itself in 
this effort to raise the life of Man, by patting it in 
harmony with his idea of the Beautiful and the 
Just. 

And so far what can be better! What fairer 
renown can an epoch ask with all following ages 
tlmn that it did not sleep on the errors of the in- 
herited, but put every usage on trial, and exploded 
every abuse ? Our impatience of what is, does 
honor to men. Our modes of living are not agree- 
able to our imaginations. We suspect they are 
unworthy. We find ourselves apologizing for our 
employments. Nature, Science, Childhood, ap- 
pear beautiful, but not our daily life. Why should 
this be hateful T Why should it not be poetic T — 
Is there a necessity that the works of Man should 
be sordid T Perhaps not. Out of our discontent 
springs for ever the aspiration for tbe Perfect, It 
is tbe testimony of the soul to a fairer possibility 
of life. 

This sense of deficiency extends even to our Re- 
ligion. ReKgion is not invited to eat er drink or 
sleep with us — to make or divide an estate, but is 
a holiday guest. These omissions judge the 
Church. But the spirit of Reform eaters here 
also. It questions tbe institutions ef Property ; 
it casts a searching glance on Trade and Labor, 
and goes up and down paving tbe world with eyes. 
Is this for nothing? How shall we suppose that 
the Reforms which are preparing are as superficial 
as those we know ? 

Mr. E. proceeded to criticise all Reformers, in- 
sisting that they do wrong to rely on material 
force, and organization, and majorities ; they 
ought to rely wholly on Principle — on the Senti- 
ment of Man, which will work strongest when 
most trusted. He objected also that they are nar- 
row, conceited, vain and censorious. [Alas! poor 
Human Nature !] Self-reliance, an entire trust in 
an Idea, and a spurning of all tactics and manage- 
ment,^ strenuously insisted on. 

The great majority seem unable to judge of a 
principle save in the light of a present fact. They 
see the evils of drinking only in a class of drunk- 
ards, when they straightway fancy Intemperance 
the greatest of oils. So these engaged in our 
popular Religious efforts' imagine that if every 
house had a Bible, every child were brought into 
the Sabbath-school, then would the wounds of the 
world be healed, and Man be upright. But do 
our Philanthropists give Liberty and eniovment to 
all within the sphere of their personal influence 1 
' I am not mortified by our Vice ; it curses and 
rages, but I can see to the end of it ; but I own 
our Virtue makes me ashamed— so soar and nar- 
row, so thin and blind — Virtue so vice-like.' 

Mr. E. insisted that Slavery is a mental rather 
than a physical condition. Nothing can oppress 
me but myself. Tbe degradation ef the black 
race, though now lost in the starless spaces of the 
Past, did not come without sin. Their condition 
is inevitable to the men they are, and nobody can 
redeem thera from it but themselves. An infusion 
from God of new thought end grace can retrieve 
their loss ; but nothing less. But let a slave be- 
come truly religious, and he is no longer in bond- 
age. 

Mr. E. considered Ennui — the dissatisfaction 
with self, the weariness of existence, which is so 



1842 

prominent in our timet, and for which our Saxon 
anceitori had no name— a* bat another evidence 
of how far the imagination of our age has out- 
grown what ha* been realized — how earnestly it 
aspire* to greater Elevation and Freedom. 

He insisted earnestly on the reverence due to 
our Intuition*. On the vast and itormy ocean 
we toil, we have no surer guide. The law and 
the perception of the law are. at last one; and only 

as the law enters into us do we become conscious 
of it. All these appearances rest on a living Re- 
ality, which is as the granite" to the earth. This 
deep Reality — tho supreme Nature which works 
within us — is the basis of all Character, Action, 
Ilistery. For this the Moral Sentiment is but an- 
other name. That Reality is all we should prize. 
' Let it not be recorded in our own memories that, 
in this moment of Eternity when we flitted across 
the light, we were afraid of any fact, or disgraced 
the fair day by a pusillanimous preference of our 
bread to our Freedom. Let us fearlessly welcome 
whatever comes in the shape of free Thought, or 
of Goodness. All the tongues of To-Day will at 
first defame what is noble ; but you who hold not 
of To-Day but of the Everlasting are to stand for 
it ; and the highest compliment Man ever receive* 
from Heaven is the sending to him its disguised 
and discredited angels.' 

Mr. Emerson's Second Lecture. — ' Thi 
Poet ' — the nature and office* of Poetry, and the 
part in the Times it plays and is likely to play — 
were the high topic of Mr. Emerson's Lecture on 
Saturday evening. He said he hoped none would 
fear that in what he had to say he should lower 
the dignity of Poetry ; nor need any apprehend 
that Criticism would seize this mountain-flower 
and pick it to pieces, for its nature is not to be 
reached by Criticism — it is beyond it. Criticism 
may tell us anecdotes of Poetry and Art, as Biog- 
raphy docs of men ; but neither can touch the na- 
ture, the inner life, of its subject. We think of 
Poetry as of the angel that sits upon the most in- 
accessible cliff in the midst of surrounding hierar- 
chies-; upon it hands were never laid. 

In seeking for what we know of Poetry, wa find 
it no solitary fact, and it is so intertwined with 
the nature of all things that it is not easy te sepa- 
rate it and say what it i*. Our definition will be 
always either more or less than the thing defined. 
Poetry finds its origin in. that need of expreirion 
which is the primary impulse of Nature. Every 
thought requires utterance, and every act is only 
an effort to express the thought that it in us — to 
unbosom ourselve*. And when oar thought has 
thus become a thing, we have advanced a step.— 
Thus all happiness depends not on what we are 
wont to call ' uninterrupted prosperity,' bat on 
the expression of what is in us. ' We mutt do 
what we shall perish if we do not. This it the 
great bappinets of Old Age that it give* vent to 
all thought : so of Wealth, which by granting 
leisure give* us opportunity to express what we 
are. Eloquence it nothing but this power to make 
report to others of what it within ut. All the facta 
of the animal economy are emphatic symbol* of 
the eternal fact — the passage of the world into the 
soul, where it suffers a change and appears again 
as a newer and a higher fact. The only reason 
why we do one thing and avoid another it this :— 
that in the one T am represented and in the other 
not. Thus is it with the beauties we see in a land- 
*eape ; for thi* reason do we follow particular pep- 
•ons, because they expre** our thoughts, while 



10 

others do not, and we care not for tliem. Thu» 
does every warrior follow Napoleon or Nelson ; 
every member of a party follows some head; every 
artist has his follower* ; it is his feat of Genius 
that draws me so, for in him do I feel my own 

powers elicited. Therefore do wa run and gaze 
to see some Tagliuni, a miracle of grace, donee 
before us; she but dances for us; were it not for 
some defect in our education or some clumsines* 
thus should we dance ; as it is, we dance in her 
feet. 

This need of expression is the cause of all action.. 
But man's science, or perception of things in the 
intellect, should have expression also. To thi* 
the force of Nature easily lends its influence. All 
things in the world are Symbols. We say that 
man is grass, is a stream, an hour, a day, or a thou- 
sand things : if we wish to accuse him we call 
him an owl, a baboon, a bat, a snake, &c. We 
do thii< now with little thought, but the man who 
first called another puppy or ast was a Poet ; he 
could see in the nature of the man a bestial neces i 
sity which would force him to bark or to brayj 
There is no word in a language that cannot thus 
become a type of Nature, and the meaner the type 
the more pungent the expression. We call the 
Universe a blossom, a cock, a sparrow : the ear 
hears and the heart leaps to the trope. 

We see in every day life the fondness of men 
for symbols. Look at the ba 1 rolled from Balti- 
more to Boston ! Behold the shoe at Lynn — the 
ship of New-Bedford ; think of the log-cabin, the 
hickory pole and the cider barrel. These men 
fancy they hate poetry, and yet they are all poets. 
How does the flag of our country — a mere strip of 
painted bunting — seen in some foreign port, make 
the heart bound for joy ! What does this love for 
symbols denote, if not that the relation of man to 
the things of nature is more intimate than the 
world suspects, and that the metamorphose* of 
Latin and Indian song are not so fabulous as they 
are represented ? Hence the power of Eloquence. 
Men say, what if that man whe talkt such thoughts 
in the Senate should act them T What would 
happen if this fellow, in some new transmigration, 
should acquire power to do what be rtow. cayt t 
It may be be will ; he must be watched. 

Adequate intellectual expression is very rare. 
Most men can say somt thing. Sufficient expres- 
sion is got to prevent suffocation. We manage to 
get some grist between the stones to prevent the 
mill from grinding itself; but there is no adequate 
expression for all our thought. But we worship 
the expression by another of what we have in our 
heart. For this we forgive all his short coming* 
— all his crimes even. This is true in Art, but it 
is demanded most of all in Intellect. 

The Poet is the person in whom these demand* 
are answered — the man without impediment — the 
one who, by the favor of God, is sent to see clearly 
what others suspect — to gaze in a trance of delight 
at the heavens and the earth — the soul through 
which the universe has passed — through his eye*, 
and there comes forth not a blur but a fair picture ; 
through his ears, aud there curries not a squeak 
nor a scream, but a song of rich and overflowing 
sweetness ; his is the hospitable soul — who con- 
tains in his spirit all things — all crimes even in it* 
vast charity and overcoming hope. The man 
knowing and man speaking is he ; he stand* a* 
the only teller of news — of sewi that shall never 
grow old — ornotin a thousand year*. H ..Jore* 
the adorable ; he is not free, but freedom ; not 
tatteful, but taste ; not a beneficiary, but a bene- 
factor of the world ; his being soars higher and 
sinks deeper than that of other men. Thus ha* 
Nature made them of fair complexion and of gentle 
manners ; for she meant that all mankind should 
love and cherish them. Judge not that they are 
sad because they sing in plaintive tones ; they ex- 
press their thought, and in that is their highest 
joy. There is no deeper dissembler than the sin- 
cerest man. Call net the Poet ignorant because 
he is silent ; nor think you have all his thought 
when you have hit speech unto the end. 

But what is the weapon which the Poet wield*: 



1842 

what are the means and the materials of his power t 
Verse or metrical language : language, the most 
spiritual of the warks of man, subdued by my sic. 
As the world is round, as bodieshave shadows and 
sounds echoes, as there is beauty in a row of ball*, 
of statues, of trees, beyond their beauty as indiv- 
iduals, so is there beauty in rhythm and metre ; it 
has its origin in the pulse and constitution of man, 
and is never quite absent from sane speech. Love 
nod thought always speak in music. Each new 
poet as certainly invent* a new metre at he doe* 
new images ; thought and metre are born together 
as are the soul and body of the child ; it is the 
sense that dictates the tune. The finest rhythm* of 
the poet are yet unfuund, and I think that the 
sweetest closes and falls are not in metre found hut 
in the measures of prose eloquence. Rhyme is 
one of the lowest forms of this music. In Poetry 
you may tell the Truth, but in Prose you must n«t. 
Out of this love of music men will hear it ; 
and those truths which are of highest import, 
which, if in a newspaper, would bo rejected, arc 
received and loved in Poetry. 

But the Poet is not to be painted in parts : there 
remains the total wonder, of which no enumera- 
tion of particulars brings you nearer the expres- 
sion. The Poet listens to all— beholds all, to give 
them back a radiant whole. As exygen o»d hy- 
drogen together form, by a chemical process, water, 
different from either, so does the Poet create anew. 
Whence the new proceeds is Nature's secret. 
What is new always delights as, for it is the last 
communication of God. 

We may say, then, that there are the highest 
grounds for believing that Poetry exists for us. 
What is it but the highest expressioa? and if the 
things exist, the Poetry must follow. We need 
not look for the. same Poetry as in the last genera- 
tien, for there are not the same things : Nature 
never repeats herself, nor does she ever pause. — 
After Dante and Shakspeare and Milton there 
came no great poet till Swedenborg: and in a 
strange corner of the earth he poured forth a river 
equal in depth and sublimity and power to any 
song of his tuneful predecessors. Men now are 
turning slowly to him. and beginning to separate 
the wheat from the chaff. Now we suffer ourselves 
to live so sensually that our very homes have be- 
come polluted; and when Poetry i* spoken of, 
forthwith we run from home to find it- Genius is 
here: she worships in this land; she lives here, 
not by immigration, but 6he is American born ; 
she is in our forest-walks ; she sits upon the mosses 
of the mountain, and paddles her canoe in ourrivers 
and ponds. You may find her, perchance, in the 
Senate — in a strange place, and with unworthy 
companions perhaps— dwelling in the bosom of 
some stout, rough, black-browed statesman from 
the woods. You may find her in some rude Bethel 
by the sea, where you shall see a hard-faced Meth- 
odist, with a countenance like a net-work of cord- 
age — a true poet pouring out his heart — a man 
whom patronage never made nor can ever spoil — 
one who speaks by right of having the most to say. 

But in purer forms than these will arise the Poet 
Geniitf ai the Times— one not unworthy the nation 
he shall represent. He shall speak in tones which 
enrich and elevate those who hear. He shall ar- 
rive — the fortunate, the adapted, the timely man. 
To doubt that such a Poet shall yet appear, is to 
doubt of day and night. New topics, new powers 
and a new spirit shah be his ; ana he shall abolish 
the old in the glory of the new. The grandeur of 
oyj Life exists in spite of us. 

Mr. Emerson's Third Lictitre. — In entering 
upon the subject of his third Lecture, on Monday, 
Mr. Emerson remarked that two great parties — 
Conservatism and Innovation — filled the State with 
their strife, and had from its creation disputed 
the possession of the world... Their strife was the 
theme of Civil History. Conservatism had estab- 
lished the monarchies and the reverend hierachies 
of the ancient world. The contest of the Plebe- 



1842 

ian» and the Patrician* — of the Rich and the 
Poor — reappear* in all timet and in all countries. 
Nor have the two their only place of meeting in 
national councils and in bloody battle-fields, but 
the combat renews iuelf in every man's life. — 
This is the antagonism of Memory and of Hope, 
of the Past and the Futme, of the understanding 
and the reason — it is tho antagonism of the two 
poles of Nature. 

Mr. Emersoh repeated an ancient though an 
unwritten tradition of the origin of this contest. 
Saturn, he said, grew weary of sitting alone, or 
with none but Uranus — the Heaven — to behold him 
and he created an oyster. He would act again, 
and created another oyster, and so he went on 
creating nothing but oysters. ' O, Saturn,' said 
Uranus, ' create a new work ; the old is not good.' 
But Saturn answered, ' I fear there is not only the 
alternative of making and not making — but of un- 
making ; you see my power has an ebb and a flow : 
to-day is its ebb, and if it be put forth now what I 
have done would be destroyed.' So Saturn held 
what he had got— but said Uranus, ' you cannot 
hold it but by making more : your oysters are but 
barnacles and cockles, and soon they will be peb- 
bles of the sea-shore.' ' I see/ said Saturn, ' that 
you are in league with Night.' And Saturn was 
silent again and the world went oa for a thousand 
years. Then Saturn made Jupiter; and he feared 
again and Nature frore, and Jupiter slew Saturn 
to save the world. 

This, said Mr. Emertcn, is the earliest political 
conversation between a Conservative aad a Radical 
that has come down to us. It is ever thus : In- 
novation is the salient energy ; Conservatism is the 
pause after the first movement. There is always 
a meanness in the argument of Conservatism joined 
to a certain superiority of fact : it is fingers against 
eyes : the fingers clutch the fact while Conserva- 
tism will not open iu eyes to see a better fact. 
But it says t» Innovation — ' you aro at Conserva- 
tive as I : you would tear down my Conservatism 
— but only to build up one of your own.' And to 
this Innovation must confess iu weakness. Con- 
servatism stands on man's incontestible limita- 
tions : Reform on hit illimitable infinitudes ; Re- 
form it affirmative — Conservatism negative : Con- 
servatism never puts its foot forward : it tends to 
universal teeming and treachery. Reform in- 
clines to asinine resistance — to kick with the hoof: 
it demands an ideal justice, and skips and ignores 
stubborn facts. 

Each is a good half, but an impossible whole. 
It it not true that there is no perfect example of 
either— that there it no ' Whig,' as we call him 
who it not sometimes a Radical, and no Radical 
who is not sometimes a WhigT Does not Heaven 
give the crown of its approbation— beauty — to 
him who combines both these elements T We do 
not honor the rock, that always resists the wave, 
nor the wave, that always dashes upon the rock : 
the superior beauty it that of the oak, which de- 
fies with its hundred arms the storms of a century 
and yet grows like a sapling. So all through na- 
ture combines the Past with the Present : we ad- 
mire the sea-shell with iu nodes and iu spirals — 
yat each marks a year in the animal's life. 

Mr. Emerson said he could net recognize Con- 
servatism or Reform in any of the popular politi- 
cal parties of the day. Each, as suits its present 
purpose, is Conservative or Innovating; neither is 
consistently or wholly one or the other. 

There is something in Conservatism which de- 
mands our reverence. The youth, of course, is an 
innovator by birth : he stands on the planet a uni- 
versal beggar. In his first consideration — for cloth- 
ing, food and fuel — he is met by the warning that 
all these have owners — he must go elsewhere. 
' Very well,' he sayt, ' gendemen of the world ; 
but, since I am born, be to good at to tell me where 
is my good lot 7' 'Touch these things at your 



11 

peril,' cry the gentlemen of the world ; ' but come 
and work for ut, and well give you bread.' ' But 
in what consists this peri] V 'In axes and knives 
and imprisonment.' ' But what authority do you 
threaten it I' ' By that of Law.' ' Is your Law 
jutt?' 'As just for you as it was for us: we 
wrought for others, and so got what we have.' 

'But it it jutt V ' As much so as the case admiu 
—not quite jutt, but nearly so: it is more just 
bow than when we ware born m have made it 
better.' ' I'll none of tout Law,' sayt the youth : 
' I am a Law to myself : I ask neither to com- 
mand nor obey.' 

With equal earnestness replies the upholder of 
the establishment — ' Your objections are over-fine ; 
look at me : I have risen early , and toiled many 
years, and neVer troubled myself about the method ; 
I laid to ray bones, and got what I have by labor, 
and you must show your warrant before you 
ride into my estate and scatter it as your own.' 

' Now,' sayt the youth, 'you touch the heart of 
the matter ; to effort and fabor I pay homage ; 

but I find this vast net-work which you call pro- 
perty extended over the planet ; I cdnnst touch 
the bleakest crag of the mountains but a man or a 
corporation starts up and says it is his ; and as I 
am peaceable and quiet, and though I could well 
enough die, as for myself, since it seems I was 
sent into the world by some mistake— all the seats 
being already taken— still I declare that if the 
Earth is yours so it it mine, nor can I omit to 
claim my own. Besides, I know your ways ; for 
your craving humor the possession of the' Earth it 
not sufficient : you would pluck down the Sun H 
you could, and for the Moon and North Star you 
will find eccasion in your bed-chamber. What 
your convenience eould spare your pride could not.' 
Mr. E. continued at some length this balancing 
of claims — setting forth the obligation of society 
to soe that the welfare of all is uninjured, and say- 
ing that, Conservatism in iu love of facu forgeu 
principles. It concedes that Reform would talk 
to the purpose if man were ttill in Eden, while 
Reform retorts that Conservatism assumes sick- 
ness as a necessary fact, and strives far mitiga- 
tions and not for remedies. It makes Society a 
Hospital — it putt the Univerte in flannel aad flip- 
pers — gives it a bib and makes it swallow pills 
and herb-teas. It makes of it a sexton, with hit 
spade and his song to men— ■> 

' Ashes to ashes and dost to dost | 
Here '« the Lele, and in you most' 
Whatever it touches it thus degrades. Education 
and Religion feel iu blighting influence. 

But, on the other hand, Conservatism has pro- 
vided all the means of stability, of convenience 
and of life ; and thus it atones for the slight of- 
fence of not giving each youth bis acre ; it gives 
him hit acre's worth. The Past has baked his 
loaves and now in the strength of iu bread the 
Reformer would break up the oven. 

The Reformer concedes all these facu, and says 
that if he sought comfort, he would rest in con- 
servatism.' But riches, he says, make not me 
rich ; they give me more clothes, but no warmth: 
they make me larger, but not stronger : they give 
me more books, but lest wit. The plant roan re- 
quires not ell this preparation for hit full and glo- 
rious flowering. 

Mr. E. concluded hit lecture by appealing to 
the private heart of every generous man as to the 
relative superiority of these two antagonistic prin- 
ciples, and enforcing the truth that each should 
trust for security and happinett to bit own in- 
dwelling virtues, and not to the institutions and 
bulwarks of Society, which is in effect relying on 
others' virtue rather lhan our own. 

N.Y.Trlbune. 3-12-42. 
Pages 2-3 



1842 



EMERSON'S LECTURES. 



Mr. Emerson's Fourth Lecture. — In com- 
mencing his fourth Lecture, Mr. Emerson alluded 
to the general but mistaken belief thnt *.'io 
views which are manifesting themselves in New- 
England, and which are known by the name of 
Transcendentalism, aro new views ; ho said they 
were the very oldest doctrines passed into the 
world in a somewhat new form — given to tfcem by 
prevailing circumstances. Light, ho Maid, was 
always identical ; it falls, howover, upon a variety 
of objects, and is thus firm revealed to us. So 
literature and thought are the same, always and in 
every land; the same lo-duy as centuries ago — tho 
same in Romo as in London — tho same in Bagdad 
as in New- York. The whole fact concerning thoso 
now viows is this: that Transcendentalism among 
us is nothing but Idealism — Idealism ns it appears 
in 1042. All thinking mou in all times have been 
divided into two sects — Materialists and Idealists : 
tho first founding every thing on Experience, and 
the others on Consciousness. Materialism begins 
to think from tho senses ; Idealism, owing to n 
greater constitutional vivacity, perceives that the 
senses aro not final, and says that theygivo us only 
representations of things; but what the things 
themselves arc they cannot tell. Moterinlism bt. 
ses itself on facts, on circumstances, dn history; 
Idealism on pure thought and the will, on inspira- 
tion, on miracles and individual attraction. Both 
these modes arc natural ; but tho Idealist insisU 
that his is of the highest nature. He concedes all 
that the other affirms ; ho admits the impressions 
of sense, but affirms facts that aro not affected by 
tho illusions of sonsc, and asserts their superiority 
to natural facts ; and snys that it needs only 
rotircmrfnt from tho senses to sco them. Every 
Idealist will bo natural. Even Cond iliac, the most 
accurate of the Materialists, says that, though man 
tears into heaven or sinks into the abyss, ho can 
never go out of himself; ho always is thut which 
ho perceives — and this is Idealism. The Mate- 
rialist sniffs and mocks at these fine-span theories ; 
and thinks the astronomer the only man. But it 
is easy to show that he is just as fantastic, and a 
philosopher need ask him only ona or two sim- 
plo questions to sou that his doctrines ulso become 
quite dim and impalpable before the senses — 
lleissuro of ono thing: that the Materialist's sys- 
tem is certain and docs not give him tho head-ache ; 
figures do nut lio, and the multiplication tablo hus 
always been found sufficiently accurate ; thut theso 
fine thoughts soon pass away. But nsk him why 
his experience in these matlurs continues uniform 
and on what ground it is founded and you will find 
tho same quaking at in the othor. Themutcriulist 
takes his departure from experience and estimates 
man as he finds him ; tho Idealist takes his depart- 
ure from consciousness and says that all else is 
mere appearance. This distinguishes the two sys- 
tems. Idealism measures things by the rank they 
take in consciousness. Himself he regards as the 
sole reality, of which men and all nature besides 
are only reflections. He respects what :s called 
great, labor and its products, religion, charters, 
governments only as they are manifold appearan- 
ces, reiterating his own being. ' My thought,' 
he says, 'that is the Universe.' He feels that the 
highest dignity of man is to be self-sustained : to 
need no foteign force to help him on. Society is 
good when it does not injure or impede me ; it is 
best when it is likest to solitude. The Deity 
dwells alone; and everything divi.ie shares this 



1842 

self-reliance. Thin thought which is called 1, is 
the mould into which the world from without is 
poured, and from which it takes its shape. As I 
am bo shall I act: so shall I associate: so shall I 
speak. The Transccndentalist adopts the wholu 
circle of spihtual doctrine : he believes in the mir- 
acle: he believes in inspiration: in cccstay : Iuj 
wishes that the spiritual principle should demon- 
strate itself to the end. Ho legists all attempts 
to palm foreign words or forces upon his spirit. 
He Buys with Jacobi, ' I am thut godless person who 
would lie as the dying Dcsdsmoiiu lied: who 
would commit sucrilego with Duvid : who would 
commit murder as Brutus did : who would pluck 
corn as Jesus did on the Subbalh, because tho needs 
of my nature demand it.' It is tho divinity of 
man that givos divinity to his acts. The spirit of 
of buddhism is tho same. It thanks no man : 
flutters no man, but behove* that every good deed 
is sure of its reward. 

It will easily bo seen from these views that there 
is no such tiling us s transcendental party-— thvro 
can be no such thing as a pure transccnJcntalist. 
We only know these men as the prophets and her- 
alds of such a doctrine— its hurbingers and fore- 
ruunei*. History uilin.l* no oxamplo of a purely 
spiiiluul tile; iheiv is no muii who has lived this 
higher life mid rulou ungels' food. Though with- 
out thought ho finds himself led and sheltered— 
he knows nut how, and yet it is by his own hand. 
It is only in the lower unimals thut we find some- 
thing of this ; the squirrel hoards nuts and the 
bee honoy— they know nut why— and yet it is for 
their life. This way of thinking fell on Roman 
times and gave birth to Stoics: in heroic times and 
produced Catos : in superstitious times and pro- 
duced A pestles; in Unitarian and Conservative 
limes and produced Transcondoiitalists. 

This docti ine acquired the name— Transcendent- 
alism— from the use of the term by Imraanuel 
Kant of Konigsborg, in his reply to the sceptical 
philosophy of Locke. It hat colored the covorsa- 
tion und poetry of the present day, and the history 
of thvso limns will bo the history of this tendency. 
It ho* caused a, e law of mon who believe in lu 
precept* nnd HUrrrndcr themselves to its tendency 
to withdraw from tho market and f-iruiti. nnd Intend 
a certain severe, critical and soliturv life. They 
prefer tu wander in the groves ond over the moun- 
tain!, and to delight themselves in tho country, 
rather than bo content with such neenmmndution* 
n» the city afford* them. To them the writing of 

Hamlets or an Epic— tho building an Umpito, were 
a drudgery. Evcrv crcaturc--nsp or anpcl — must 
work niter its kind, and so do they ; and wc may 
well begin to n«k what it is that those companion* 
and countrymen of ourl think end do. Out Liter- 
ature and Spiritual history, it must be confessed, 
nrv as yet in the optative mood : but wheso see* 
these admirable radicals taking so severely to task 
the things and men around mutt needs believe that 
this celestial reniu* will not past away and leave 
no mark. 

Looking ut what ihry havo dono we firtt ob- 
serve thot they are lonely — the spirit of their writ- 
ing i* solitary. They incline to shut themselves- 
in their chamber, and rhooso to shun tho city and 
labor in solitude. Society docs not like this in- 
them very well : it thinks them vppiih. But this- 
proceed* from no whim in them. They do it from, 
temperament ond principle, and as a choice of two- 
evils. They are not by nature melancholy or un- 
social ; they don ot choose that men should shun and 
mistrust them. No; if you look you shall sccthav 
they have o great wish to be loved ; ask them and 
they will tell you that love seems to them the last 
and highest gifi. of nature — that there are persona 
in the world whom they daily and devoutly thank 
for existing — unknown to them perhaps, and whom 
they havo never seen ; but in the spirit of whose 
lives nnd writings they live and grow ftrong. Love 
me, they sny — but do not ask who is my cousin or 
my uncle: If you perceive my thought from what 
I do, then I'll tell it to you from sunrise to sunset J 
but if you cannot divine it from thy acts, then you 
will not understand it. 



13 

Again, you Will see that they are the most ex- 
acting and extorting critics. They do not quarrel 
with men from any exception to their kiud, but tr> 
their degree: they do not say that a man is not of 
Jic right kind, but they complain that there is not 
enough of him. They continually regret that there- 
should be on enrth so many promising youth and 
yet no perfect man : every one has some fruit : the 
strung man is rough ; the delicote man is shallow; 
and so every piece has its crack. Talk tothe sailor 
about tho danger* of the deep, and he will say to 
you, ' Do you not see that nil wc sailors are young 
men 1 We grow not old as do others.' So we on 
tho great heaving sea of thought nsk where are the 
old ideal men— where the men that promised so 
well when young 7 In looking at the power and 
wealth that have grown up, we ask, Where are 
they who represented Genius nnd Virtue 7 Art) 
they deiid, nnd have they been taken to tho gods T 
or lia* iho high Idea died out of them, and their 
imperfect bodies licen left a* tomb-stone* to an- 
nounce that their celestial inhnbitnm has ilcpni ted T 
Those men are replied by vulgarity; frivolity 
makes thorn lonely: they sny it is bettor to he 
alone than in bad company, and out of their vety 
wish to ho mot they shun tociccy. So thoy -celt 
tho woods nnd hills, which thoy peoplo with their 
Own crentions; and them thoy have n society real 
nnd not illusive. They sl-nrc not in the public bu- 
siness of society; they take no port in its charities; 
they touch not missiennry doings, nor abolition, 
nor temperance; thoy are innetivo, and like not to- 
vote. The Philanthropist colls him slothful, nnd 
had as lief find a drone in n trnnsccndentnlist. In 
the popular creed he is believed to say, ' I think 
myself a greet genius, ond therefore I need not la- 
bor ;' and men soy that genius is but a greuter 
means of doing, and that good nnd wise men must 
learn so act. 

These youth reply that life and their faculties 
teem to them giftt too high and solemn to be 
squandered on such trifles ns are popular 1 . What 
men call their great institutions, great and holy 
causes seem to them but paltry matter*. They 
think that all politics ond religion havo become 
moro trndes, until the world has become a shop 
where the article is made up into rnket ond re- 
tailed in small quantities to suit purchasers. Un- 
less an act has meaning nnd an aim they do -not 
wish to perform it; thoy don't love routine ; it it 
tho quality of an Oct ond not the jrrentness of 
tho action or the duration of time which attract* 
thorn. So Xniithus, when ho wns asked after s> 
long siege what ho hod seen, said he only remem- 
bered seeing I'crirlcs, thnt he smiled upon him> 

and passed on to another detachment. The world 
asks why they do notwoik; they huve no work, 
thoy say; What will you do then 7 asks the world ; 
we will wait. But how long t Until the Universe- 
calls us up ; we will tit in our corner ond per- 
ish, ut you call it, but we will not move un- 
til we hove a command ; and if no call come*,, 
then thall wc know that iho wan v of tho world ig> 
tho attestation of faith given by our abstinence. 
If wo cannot work at least we will not Ui. 

But although they readily answer tho questions 
and objections of others, it seems not to easy to- 
answer tho doubts thnt occur to themselves. They 
are acquainted with feelings acquired only by trial* 
ond tho bravest experience. They havo moments- 
of a higher life— thoughts nnd states of bliss— 
whether in tho body or out of the body they can- 
not tell ; these last for porhups an lour, and then- 
they find thcmselvct ot their old tricks again. 
They complain that their livet are superficial ; that 
they take no root in tho deep, things of the spir- 
itual world. These lightning flashes they would) 
exchange for the steady light of day. 

But we should not sufficiently characterize these 
men if we omitted to add thut they ore lovers of 
beauty: that Ishey havo cultivated tastes, ard they 
love goodness and beauty for themselves. In the 
old church if you speak of truth it is prudence you 
mean ; in the old politics if justice he mentioned,, 
policy it meant. But justice for nil, they ask — for 
the blacks, and for all others — for its own beauty and 
for the good of the doer, and not the beneficiary. I 



1843 

can only work for myself. When moved by love a. 
man leaches his child or docs an net which nerrlv- 
touches life, as did tho mar' vr- hV 0oes It ~o* '"f 
others, but because ho fosfe it' inward ncie??fty 
for himself. These men, too, u*<ribe tl;e highest 
value to character. The materialist v icl-c ouS tv 
see results; they care only for the state of mind in 
which man works : you look for great powers — I 
wish only for signs of character: und character is 
a power that woiks without means — like light (\<ll 
heat — not to be understood and yet not to b • in- 
sisted. If a man has this character it mutters no*. 
what he does or docs not", he will conquer in • W 
things. When lole wus asked by what A<1 ihft 
know that Hercules wns a god, she made answer r 
1 When I looked upon the others I wished them to 
do something that I might know what wns in them ; 
Theseus I wanted should fight a buttle; but in 
teon at my eye fell ou Hercules, I knew him to bo 
a god, for in whatever ho did— whether he sot, or 
tmiled, or walked, he triumphed.' I rcgnrd this 
increasing reverence for character as of great im- 
portance, because in that alone I find the true 
church and tho religion of (he present day. It 
dwell* not in outward forms nor in visible churches, 
but in templet not mode with hands, in the hearts- 
and consciences of simple men. 

No doubt there it a great deal of well-founded 
objection made to the doings- and »o\ings of these 
men. They expose themselves, doubtless, to n 
great deal of ill-nulure tuid of satire, lint their 
lubors must bo of great benefit. In the Mechanic 
Arts ore needed not only ploughs, and looms, un, 1 
saws; but finer instruments: ruin-gungvs, titer 
mometers and telescopes. So in Society there i< 
need not only of fanners, nnd wnevers, nnd la- 
boron, hot of finer spirit.-, and there might he 
room for these exciters; tie-so men who throw orl" 
spurks of thought and feeling. Or ns u >toirr 
tossed vessel at Sea speaks the b.--g or packet -> o- 
moots, to leant her luiitudo and her destintiil.o. ; 
tu not without advantage do w e <ii -et these me- of 
rure gifts and pure lives end <wt ft in uv I*;. ring 
and correct our compass, and roi ipu, • ours with 
thoir superior chronometers. When every tongue 
it raisod for a now road or some new project, 
shall wo not tolerate one or two solemn voices that 
speak for thoughts not marketable, but thnt never 
perish? 

UMr. ):<mr.«on's Fifth Lecture on Saturday 
evening treated of 'Manners' — that it, of tho 
spirit and cs«onco of those forms and usages which 
mark the bearing of ' Good Se ioty.' After an 
• opening glnncn at tho mtber striking peculiarities 
in thi* lespoet of somu portion* of tho human fnm- 




1842 

ily — tho men of the Frjeo Islands, a'ho cat their 
wive* and children — tlio Ahysslniant of the Upper 
Nile, vho dwell in excavated tombs and clod* of 
the reck, go naked, nnd livo in ovory way like 
■beasts, precisely at did their progenitor* in the 
time of Herodotus— ho alluded to the creation of 
the Gentleman as one of the most conspicuous, 
facti in Modern History. The universal acknow- 
ledgement of Gentility is but an oblique and co- 
urt way in which this good world of ours is train- 
ing for the recognition of the saintly and poetic as 
the true and vital elements of the Human Charnc- 
<er. Tbe forms of what is called good society aro 
important at evincing the reverence naturally paid 
by the human heart to Honor, Beauty and Reality. 
We regret that we have not space to follow the 
•lecturer through his address; but as it it, wc can 
-only alludo to its most prominent points. He 
spoke of the great comprehensiveness of the So- 
cial institution as it exists in the civilizod world, 
saying that it reached from the precincts of Hea- 
Ten to the purlieus of Hell — being an order of many 
degrees. Even the forms and apparent frivolities 
of Fashionable Life will become grand when they 
are perceived to spring fiom the socret and un- 
conscious reverence to what is best and sacred in 
man. 

Mr. Emerson said that the leading idea of all 
•Society is Truth of Character; to be well-bred a 
man must be lord of himself, and this fact must ap- 
pear in all bis behavior. Thus stoutness, bravery 
and truth were among the leading requisites in 
■the character of a gentleman in times of Chivalry. 
This thought Mr. E. developed at considerable 
length, insisting upon Self-reliance as the bonis of 
Social as of all other distinction. When a man 
goes into Society all that is necessary to his be- 
ing well received is that hebcsiiiecro and master 
of himself — that all may soo him face to fuco and 
know thru he is a man to be met. From this do- 
•ire to identify and make sure k of him sprung 
the custom of introducing uno man to another 
pointedly and by name— -of taking each other by 
the hand and looking into each others' faces. Let 
a man be thus completely master of himself — stand- 
ing erect before his companions, and feeling that 
be is as good i< any, and ho will be well received— 
whether ho conform to all the nice observances, 
•r whether he sit upon the floor or stand on his 
head, or adept some equally striking and aborigin- 
al mode of behavior. 

He alluded in this connection to the appearance 
and triumph of Bunns— coming directly from tho 
plough-tail into the fashionable circles of Edin- 
burgh. All that Fashion demands of any one is 
•composure, and if she cannot have this she will 
have nothing. If a man evince Self-reliance and 
nobility of aim she asks no more ; but if he show 
any intrinsic deference or yielding to any other 
man, he forfeits all respect: fashion will have no- 
thing to do with him — she will speak with his 
master. We care pothing after all for fine houses 
Or splendid furniture as belonging to the require- 
ments of good Society: the first thing we ask is if 
there be a man in the house— for we want to see 
and face him, and the Gentleman never dodges . 
• Fashion, however, is apt to set its fiaco against 
the True Man of the Present hour, and dwell in 
the hall of the Past. It is Virtue gone to teed — 
k is posthumous Honor — attribute paid not to he- 
roes but their children. Everything called Fashion 
becomes insignificant before the great central truth 
Of Life. 

After perfect Sincerity and Self-Possession, So- 
ciety demands of its votaries Good Nature. He 
must not be austere or exacting who would satisfy 
its requirements. A prying, restless, critical 
Spirit discontents it : it is better pleased with a 
congenial and sleepy naturo than this. It loves 
not to bo searched and revised. Now and than, in 
Its passion for excitoment and novelty, It takes 
bold of tho wonder of the hour— some New Zea- 
land Prince, or North Polo discoverer, or mission- 
ary from CafTraria — but this is only at o novelty, 



13 

and to-morrow he is forgotten, and the world re- 
turns to its habitual standards and satisfactions. 

— Such is a very meagre outline of the leading 
positions in Mr. Emerson's Lecture, of which we 
failed to take notes during its delivery, while its 
profound analysis and acute distinctions utterly 
defy recollection after two days' interval. Its 
spirit was eminently tolerant and genial ; and its 
definitions of Society as baaed on the lsve of Good- 
ness and Truth — of Fashion as adding to these the 
adntlration of Beauty, Elegance, Grace—must 
have surprised many who had come to listen to a 
caustic and cynical lathing of the vices and ex- 
travagances of the ago. Yet the kindlier philoso- 
phy is doubtless the truer at the core ; and if the 
world can be made to believe that it indistinctly 
.wttant something lofty and excellent by its ob- 
servances, who know* that it may not be led to 
conform its Actual to it* Ideal 7 

Ma. Emerson's Sixth Lecture.— Mr. Emer- 
son in Introducing his Sixth and Last Lecture upon 
the Timet, alluded to the several branchet of the 
general subject which he had already considered 
and of whioh he lind endeavored merely to present 
tke most prominent, being well aware that the con- 
sideration of many mere themes would be neces- 
sary to a well proportioned picture of the present 
age. In drawing the subject to a close he pro- 
posed to take a general view of the reasons for 
hope and of the duties which would occur most 
frequently to intelligent men. There was some- 
thing low, he said, in the tone of sorrow and anx- 
iety which" characterises so much the speculation of 
the present time ; and be was sorry to read that 
M- de Tocqueville had said that a ' cload always 
hangs upon the American brow.' This ought not 
to be the badge of the active and commercial 
classes and least of all of the litorary and specu- 
lative class. He haled this building of dungeons 
in the air, when we ought to sing poeons and con- 
gratulations upon the harmony of the world ; we 
read anothor lesson in the cypher of naturo ; we 
read that she is profuse of joyous life. We never 
learn these melancholy notes from Nature, for even 
the exprettien of storm and night it not sad, and 
-what absence of all sadness is in the flakes of 
•now— is tho rain drops descending from the 
eaves— in the falling leavos of tho trees. The ef- 
fect of every natural gift is toexhilcrate 1 ; whatever 
we do in aaiuro— whethor we walk, or run, or sing, 
or swim, or whittle— those things all cheer, not 
■sadden tho spirit. 

Any true exerciseof natural talent always delightt 
/he possessor first, at we read that Archimedes 
was so intent upon the table on which he was draw- 
ing hit geometrical figures, that hit attendants 
were ebliged to pluck him away, and strip lura of 
bis clothes to annoint him, whilo he went on draw- 
ing new schemes upon hit. annojnted boJy. All 
beauty it a cordial— a sign of health : upon overy 
letting gift ef great mes ths Divinity has marked 
this stamp, and what, In this respect, it true of 
nature it likewise true of art. There it nothing 
wholly devoid of beauty and of pleasure : the earth , 
water, clouds, flowers and everything are full of 
them. Even the signs of the Zodiac in the old 
farmers' Almanac, with tho degrees writton beneath 
—have for ovory ono a certuin pleasure, and if 1 
may confess it, I mutt say that J can never hear 
tho former repeat the rotation of hit crops, or re- 
count the various kinds of fruit and grain tie raises 
—a* the eightrrowed corn, the Indian or the pop 
«ora— without fooling that be has no need of what 
men call poetry : ho sees tho silver thread gleam- 
ing in the homespun: ho does not break off* his 
flowers, but ploughs in his seed : Every throb ef his 
heart it filled with beauty and thrills him with joy. 

What a power is in custom or tho repetition of 



1842 

any act or sufferance I Wo cannot deny that joy 
thus lives in nil though none but the most clovntcd 
minds can resist the habit. Our Temperance Socie- 
ties have not yet destroyed this, for wo arc all 
mado drunk every doy with this laudanum of rou- 
tine. I once knew an old lady who lived in a 
houso adjoining the jail, and she was greatly an- 
noyed by tho profanity of tlio old dosnerndocs who 
took a pleasure in vexing so respectable a person. 
The jail was finally pulled down, nnd some ono 
was congratulating tho lady on tho joy she must 
feel in having got rid of tho old sinners: ' O, no,' 
said she, ' I kind o' miss them. 1 If men weuld 
confess we should find that it is mainly by their 
blunders that tbey have been led into success.— 
Tho mero falls wo get the faster do wc move on. 
To push a little to extremes this exuberance of na- 
ture, we might say that she sometimes seems to 
droll with us and to exaggerate her own laws. — 
As we have never given a peck of apples till tho 
measure is heaped, so Nature gives to every man 
some small excess of the proper qnnlity — 'just a 
drop too much, ami from this uriscs much of the 
word's success. But when there comes some sad, 
shnrp-eyed mnn who sees how paltry is the game, 
refuses to ploy and blabs the secret, Nuture pres- 
ently sends some other man with a little more ox- 
cess of direction — makes him a little more wrong- 
headed just in that direction in which he is Tight- 
est, and so tho game goes on for a century or two 
more. Wo are kept alive aid all naturo is kept 
alive, by this same exuberance of her bounty. — 
Wo ent not immediately to satisfy the cravings 
of our bodies but because the food is savory and 
tho appetite keen. The air is filled with a thou- 
sand seeds that perchance a hundred may fall upon 
good ground and grow up — that ten may pcrehance 
como to maturity — that one at least may repluce 
its parent treo. The samo craft is not only 
needed in physical acts but in the mind and intel- 
lect of man. Sickness soon becomes nrgnni/cd as 
well as health, and vice as well as virtue. When 
war existed as a general tondency of society wo 
had stereotyped wnniors — and so with merchants 
when the inclination was toward trade. Tho 
same process, too, makes tha scholar, who is no- 
thing but a scholur and whoso powers, liko thoso 
of a lens, are nothing of themselves but only at 
their focus produce nn effect, and at all other dis- 
tances and in other directions givo only a blur. So 
with many public persons; they may be dull in n 
fetc-a-tclc, but call them to preside and the eye 
brightens, tho form dilates and a certain majesty 
at onco invests them. Thus nature seems often to 
makejthese public mon ' to order.' In every college, 
for instance, you shall find some notmnt »h<-nfl — 
somo one with a loud voice, a noble- oir, a tine 
coat, and tho college ut onco asks him to order its 
processions, nnd he docs it with majesty and ease, 
and tho whole college follows him like a tamo 
dog. So nature seems to havo made antiquarios, 
mes of curious crotchets, rnttlc-hcads and bores 
for the sake of using up all her chins. As frugal 
farmers sometimo turn swino into their harvested 
fields to pick up what is left, so is even the least 
thing saved and economized by nature. Whenever 
the first ray of light is let fall upon the planet, there 
is an eye established to receive it. 

I have been told by those acquainted at the 
South that the planter becomes little more than a 
cotton-gin, and that the negro is oft-times far more 
a man than the whito ; he is alive to more human 
interests ; he is the best companion of the two. 
And how should it be otherwise? He is no wood- 
en machine, but a wild cedar swamp, rich in all 
vegetation, and through which the winds of heaven 
breathe wild nnd solemn music. A mnn of genius, 
moreover, is sot a normal, conventional character, 
but a wild Ishmaclite, as were Shakspeare, Dante, 
Cromwoll, and the liko. He obeys no man, and 
keeps no law but his own. This samo operation 
of nature we nil feol in evory study to which wo 
foel an inclination. Ctesor in Lucon tnkes the 
Egyptian priest aside and says to him, ' Como, I 
will quit nsy Empire, army, Cleopatra and all if 
you will surely sbow me the fountains of tho Nilo;' 
and In the depth of our gratitude to tho Poets, 



1842 

who of us wsuld net abjure all oilier things for 
the power to enrich the world with a single flask 
from the spring whence they havo drawn T But 
every occupation er etudy soon become* to u* by 
habit tho 'fountains of the Nile,' for which we quit 
every thing else. We get a peep through the tel- 
essepe, and soon we neglect all else u» small ana 
mean before Astronomy. But the botanist *oon 
draw* u* back from these dazzling orbs, and makes 
us contest with the lowliest flower that bloom* in 
the moadow or on tho mountain. 

Evory thing is good but this pursing of lips and 
tho petty tumor* of which tho world is full. Wo 
finish our education too soon ; and I cannot help 
thinking that tho fool's cap and the school-dame's 
birch might bo woll applied to tome of u* child- 
ren, of thirty, and forty, and fifty years eld. — 
The youth who sots out upon bis travels finds at 
tho ontrance of ovory now avonuo some guide, who 
assures him that there is nothing beyond — that 
with his best eyes he has explained and mapped 
out tho whole, that ho can tell him all about it, and 
that any interest he may feel in the matter he 
will please transfer to himself. Why should wo 
all be teachers so soon? — Be not too early old. 
I wonder that men do not seo that the ignorance 
of children is in evory way a* admirablo a* the 
knowledge of riper years. Be satisfied, then, to 
see and hold your tongues. Who asked you for 
an opinion ? Your opinions are all framed before 
hand and your wits made to suit them. Like the 
magnetised people who read with the back of their 
heads, you see with your memory and not with 
your eyes. Our Education, as I said, it completed 
far too quick ; as soon as the boy can read and 
cypher, he becomes u writer and sets up for him- 
self, and he soon finds his wits spoiled, like high- 
spirited horses, by running away and sfreiniDg 
themselves. We cannot help seeing that our best 
authors would have been better had they seen a 
grand tribunal established ta decide upon the 
merits of writers, and had they known that aone 
hut the best would pass If a youth can now write 
a paragraph for the nov. ipapor, the next thing ha 
attempts is what he calls a History, and tbeso 
for whom he writes it suppose thnt, because it is 
published by a good houso. it must be a good book. 
Hod we a Sialiger to criticise it and a worthy tri- 
bunal t» examine it, things would be otherwiso 
an3 insttuction would then begin where now it 
ends. Our literary men now are writers in pro- 
vinces — Ctesar in A idea — with no one to call them 
to account, and no ono ta show them their inferi- 
ority. I now speak of men of talent — for genius 
makes its own law and does not write dowo to any 
one's comprehension Thus Milton sang a song 
to the music of his own ear and he knew that Eng- 
land held not unother oar, and might not for a con- 
tury, which should hear its rhythms. The groat 
Poet writes for the gods, as those ancient marbles 
brought to Britain by Lord Elgin were found to be 
most finely finished and pulishod with most care 
on tho surfaces toward !he wall which no man 
might ever soe, for they were carved for the gods. 
Our youth, too, are apt to perceive thut Church 
and State are in extreme danger, and they think 
it necossary that tho* should put their shoul- 
dors to tho heavy load. We are too apt to think 
that tho world Is in a desperate cuso and ieod» 
our patching to enable it to last for our day. Na- 
ture is rich ; but to a fixture — to the halting she 
gives nothing; only to tho actors, tho innovators, 
is tho generous. The Conservative rests in the 
fact; tho Theorist in thought; the latter starts 
spirit* which will not down if we bid them — she 
duos great things with the same facility as little ; 
whilo tho other defends the established and re.it* 
content. Still I hiivo the same objection to dog- 
matism in Reform at in Conservatism : (tho imp*- 
tionse to r ulo before we servo, to glvo luwt before 
wo huve tuid our own prayora, dwarf* evory thing 
aa Z m »" 8 ' °ur virtue a futs and sometimes a fit. 

This exuberance of nature of which I have spoken 
offers itt aid to oyery one, and will giva to our 
hope, a bolder wing, and enable u. to perform with 
meoknes* tho duties to which wo are called But 
wo must not believe thet ngos can have rolled away 
and brought no now clement for tho guidance of our 
lives. Patriotism and truth require more than fair 



14 
words for tho ago : we must bo prepared to catch 
and receive with a groat heart the lot as it loops 
forth from* tho urn of time. Wo must soo that 
lifo is not superficial— that it unfolds matter of 
infinite wonder, for ih* last fact always attonlthat. 
When a true man meets another, all he nsks Is 
' Brother, have you wondered— have you seen the 
fnct V Over all tho facts of life we are in tho 
habit of weaning a web of cunning, and so masking 
it that our lifo has become little better than a 
masquerade brill. 

All that a man hath will he giro for right rela- 
tions with those around him. lie feels great mo 
in walking erect before those in whose presence he 
formerly felt abashed nnd inferior | but having 
reached that point he sees still others before whom 
ho ennnot possess himself because they havo about 
them a certain grandeur which excites the homage 
of his soul. Dear to him are they if they love 
him ; for then he is admitted to their life and 
brent lies their air; but dearer ore they if they re- 
ject him, for then they add to his nnother life, and 
urge him to new nnd unatuiinrd performance. — 
This is the way man travels on while still ' hills 
peep o'er hills and Alps on Alps arise' Life lias 
tts moments of awe and majesty when speeding 
from triflo to trifle, we chance to meet ourselves 
in tho things around us : then we hnnw that we hare 
eatanlntusandbecnforgctful. Society hasshnwn me 
this and that hern, but that which I seek is not in these 
—it is within myself. It is myself that makes a man 
great or small ; if I say be is great — he becomes so 
Who shall tell if such a man be great or nut 7 It 
depends whu asks, and in what state; and tho time 
will como when the great men of the present time 
will be strangely dwarfod. The man wha speaks 
what is in his heart in terms that to many seem 
frivolous, to others will seem profane. I am glud 
of oil the sympathy with my thought that mny have 
been awakened here ; it will clothe me as a gnr- 
mont for shelter and beouty ; yet were it nil taken 
owny, I still keep that which is mine — depending 
not upon man or any urriileuts of life. 



N.Y.Tribune . 3-19-42, 
pp. 2-3. 



{audition •ritltiM aad the Earth. 

Mr. Emerson, in his last Lecture at the Society 
Library, observod that theTrnnscondmtnlist, or tho 
ideal Philosopher, would not labor for small objects, 
such as Abolition, Temperance, Political Reforms, 
Sec. — that ho required a great object to arouse him, 
and would wait until such an object called out his 
energies. We would ask Mr. Emerson whether 
the Poverty, Ignorance and Misery of the Human 
Race and the devastated and neglected condition 
of the Globo are not objects great enough to arouse 
the Philosopher of the Transcendental School to 
action. There are millions upon millions of eur 
fellow creatures who aro now suffering intense 
want and privation, and sinking under the load 
of their miseries ; there are hearts that are worn 
out by anxiety, bodies that are exhausted by 
starvation ; there are hundreds of thousands of 
beings who, at this present momont, are laboring 
In dark and gloomy mine* far from the light of 
day, toiling and sweating in the bowelt of tho 
earth, with no other object* to cheer existence 
than the pale lamp, the pick-axe and the wheel- 
harrow ; there are other hundreds of thousands 
immured In tho walls of dungeons, expiating by 
suffering and ignominy crimes into which they 
were entrapped or plunged by circumstances over 
which they had no control ; there are beings who, 
at tho moment we write and the reader peruses, 
are ending their existence on tho scaffold, — mere 
the victims of a false Social Order than their own 



1842 

depravity; a majority of the Human Race is com- 
posed of half-famished Laborers and Slaves who 
are toiling from want and fear of starvation, ar 
from fear of the lash; there are mother* whoso 
hearts are wrung by the sufferings of their poor 
children, and which tliey cannot alleviate ; in 
short, there are hope* blasted, unforeseen ruin, 
disappointment, despair, insanity and moral woes 
afflicting those who escape the miseries of Poverty 
and Crimo. A moan of universal suffering goes up 
from tortured Humanity, which calls in tones of 
loud or stifled ageny upon tho Thinkurs and Loaders 
of Mankind for Reform and Rulief. Should not this 
harrid spectacle of human wretchedness arouse the 
Philosopher to action T It not tli* idea or hope of 
remedying it an object high, great and holy enough 
to excite him to act? It is and must be, and we 
believe that he will confess he was idle enly be- 
cause the full extent of human suffering did not 
come up before his mind. 

To the spectacle of Human Misery, let us add 
the neglected, ravaged and devastated condition 
•f the earth. Man is the OVERSEER of the 
Globe, which is a noble Domain confided to his 
care; he should cultivate, embellish and beautify 
it ; develope it* material Riches and Harmonies; 
perfect the creation* upon it, and make of it a 
magnificent terrestrial abode, worthy of his own 
Ganiut and of God who created it. Tho Creator 
has given Man a high order of Intelligence to en- 
able him to perform his trust of Overseer, and as 
Mind should perfect and harmonize Matter, Man 
should improve and embellish material Nature, 
until he brings it up, so to say, ta a level with 
his own Intelligence. 

The Earth it now in a frightful condition'; vatt 
Deserts are scattered over it* surface, which 
present immense nuface* of heated sand to the 
rays of a tropical sun. The intense and unnatural 
degree of heat which is thut produced, deranges 
the climate and atmospheric system of three- 
quarters of the globe. Betido* the simooms and 
other pestilential winds, and the stifling atmos- 
phere which the Deserts exhale, they are one of 
the principal ciusos of the itormi, hurricanes, 
typhoon*, and the excessive fluctuations of tem- 
perature which take place. The lattor bring with 
them diseases of various kind*, such as cold*, con- 
sumptions, rheumatism, <fcc. 

Beside* the Deserts on the Earth'* surface, which 
may be compared to ulcers on a human body, 
there are vast Swamps and Murine*, which send 
forth Miasmai, and scourge Mankind with other 
diteases, like Cholera, Plague and Yellow Fever. 
Thus we tee that the Human Race are collectively 
interested in a proper cultivation of tho Globe ; 
the most distant nutlons are exposed to thu per- 
nicious effects of 'he Deserts and Marshes. 

Vast regions of tho Earth liave been dovujtutod 
by fire and tword, and are now barren ; more ex- 
tensive region* still are untouched and neglected, 
to that we may safely estimate that nineteen- 
twentieth* of it* sarfuce are lying waste. 

Tho Labor* and Treasure* wasted in wars could 
correct all tint, — could reclaim and farlilite thu 
Globe. Association and Attractive Industry, nnd 
a true Universal Polioy would direct the Energio* 
and Genius of Mankind to such great objects. 
Now we ask Mr. Emerson whether the Elevation 
of the Human Race and the Embellishment of lha 
Earth are not aims high and noble enough to fill 
the »oul of the transcendental Philosopher? Can 
he find a higher object ? and is there any need of 
waiting with patience for centuries (a* Mr. E. (aid 
the Philosopher will) for an Undertaking worthy 
of arousing his thoughts and energies? 



1842 



15 

Alcott House Ham, Surrey, England 
6th of July, 1842, 



1842 



" Behold I make all things new." 

That in order to attain the highest excellence of which man i* 
capable, not only is n searching Reform necessary in the existing 
order of men and things, but the Generation of a new race of persons 
is demanded, who shall project institutions and initiate conditions 
altogether original, and commensurate with the being and wants of 
humanity. 

That the ^iimv of this new generation arc even now discoverable 

in human beings, but have been hitherto cither choked by nu^eiiial 
circumstances, or, having borne fruit prematurely or imperfectly, have 
attained no abiding growth. 

That the elements for u superior germination consist in an innocent 
fertile mind, and a chaste healthful body, built up from the purest 
and most volatile productions of the uueontaminated earth : thus 
removing all hinderances to the immediate influx of Deity into the 
spiritual faculties and corporeal organs. Hence the true Generators 
attention will be drawn to whatsoever pertains to the following consti- 
tuents of Man and of Society : — 

Primarily, Maniage and the Family Life, including, of course, the 

Breeding and Education of Children. 
Secondly, Housewifery and Husbandry. 
Thirdly, The relations of the Neighboui hood. 
Fourthly, Man's relation to the Creator. 
It is obvious, that society, as at present constituted, invades all 
and everyone of these relations; and it is, therefore, proposed to 
select a spot whereon the new Eden may be planted, and man may, 
untemptcd by evil, dwell in harmony with his Creator, with himself, 
his fellows, and with all external nature?. 

On a survey of the present civilized world, Providence seems to 
have ordained the United States of America, more especially New 
England, as the field wherein this idea is to be realized in actual 
experience ; and, trusting in the faith which inspires, the hope which 
ensures, and the power which enacts, a few persons, both in the new 
country and the old, arc uniting their efforts to secure, at the earliest 
possible moment, and by the simplest possible means, a consummation 
r-o sublime, so humane, so divine. 

A. lillONSON ALCOTT. 
CHARLES LANE. 
HENRY G. WRIGHT 

%* Persons interested in this endeavour may address the 
parlies either at Alcott House, Hani, Surrey, in England, or 
at Concord, near Boston, in the l>uited States of America. 



TO THE- MOON. 
[ Trmdattd from the Qtrman of Ooethe.) 

BY JOHN 8. DWTOHT. 

Fit.lest hill and vale again, 

Still, with softening light ! 
Loosest from the world's cold chain ; 

All my soul to-night. 

Spreadest round me, far and nigh, 

Soothingly, thy smile ; 
From thee, as from friendship*! eye, 

Sorrow shrinks the while. 

Every echo thrills my heart — 

Glad and gloomy mood ; 
Joy and sorrow both have part 

In my solitude. 

River, river, glide along ! 
I am sad, alas ! 

Fleeting things are love and song- 
Even so they pass. 



55 •-* 



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I have had and I have lost 
What I long for yet ; 

Ah ! why will we, to our cost, 
Simple joys forget 1 

River, river, glide along, 
Without stop or stay ! 

Murmur, whisper to my song 
In melodious play. 

Whether on a winter's night 
. Rise thy swollen floods, 
Or in spring thou hast delight 
Watering the young buds. 



Happy he, who, haiin^ none, 
Leaves the world's Hull noise, 

And with trusty friend alone, 
Quietly enjoys, 

What, for ever unexpre^wd, 
Hid from common sinht. 

Through the mares of the breast 
Softly steals by night ! 



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Thi FoutmiR asd Othkb Pobmi i By William C. Bryant : 
N*w-Y«rk : Wiley It Putnam. 

These poems, we are informed by their distinguished 
author, in a brief preface, " have been written within 
the last five or six years — some of them merely as parte 
of a longer ons planned by the author, which may pos- 
sibly be finished hereafter." 

We hail with unfeigned satisfaction the appearance 
of (his small volume, and though familiar with its con- 
tents through th« agency of various periodicals, in 
which they were originally published, we are glad the 
author has been induced to give them to the public in a 
collected and durable form. 

It haa become fashionable of late for many to say 
that pottry ti tlead—aa if poetry could ever die ! So 
far from this, at no period in the world's history has its 
benign and blessed spirit been so universally felt and 
diffused as at the present. It is becoming one of the 
elements of life ; a familiar household thing and every 
day companion, cherished in the hearts of thousands, 
and not, as heretofore, courted and appreciated only by 
the few. -Through its heavenly influences the feelings, 
affections, and tender passions are more cultivated • 
glimpses af the infinite, of a higher and happier state of 
being, to which all aspire, are more widely enjoyed ; 
perceptions of the beautiful and the true are awakened 
and men by its agency are elevated into a higher 
sphere of thought. The true poet is ever the child and 
teacher of his age, bodying forth some glimpses of 
" that unspeakable beauty which, in its highest clear- 
ness, is religion." We notice as a striking feature of 
the present time, an unsatisfied and restless state of 
mind in the higher cultivated classes of society ; con- 
tinual strivings and inarticulate yearnings, 

" for Uie far-off, Uie onattalneii, and dim.'' 
Hence we observe so many hundreds seeking to give 
utterance to their emotions in verse, with unequal sue* 
cess, that depending entirely upon their ability as 
poets Many have the liveliest poetical feelings who 
luck the power to express them in poetry ; and others 
have a fine appreciation of poetry who cannot form 
a tolerable ceuplet. Many express their ideas clearly 
in verse, yet fail entirely to produce any of the effects 
of poetry. " It is one thing," says Bnrke, " to make 
an idea clear, and another to make it afftrting to the 
imagination." Poetry is the expression of emotion ; 
even thought is subordinate to feeling in poetry. 

That the author of " Thanatopsis" is a true poet no 
one, we presume, who has read his works even with the 
least appreciating spirit, can for a moment doubt. The 
ittle volume before us, if it may not add to its author's 
high reputstion, will at least confirm and strengthen it. 
The popularity of Mr. Bryant's poems with all classes, 
from the highly cultivated to the comparatively igno- 
rant, furnishes a certain proof of their merit. So uni- 
versal is the power, when rightly awakened, to discover 
and appreciate the beautiful— eo responsive is the hu- 
man breast to sympathy with certain uttered feelings— 
that a humble cottager will point out the beauties of 
Rums, as readily, and with as certain a precision, as s 
master of m sthetics. 

In many of Mr. Bryant's productions, the pervading 
idea is kept constantly before the reader, and complete 
effects are produced apparently by the simplest means. 
Though exquisitely and elaborately finished as works 
of art, no lsbor is visible in his poems, and our admira- 
tion is excited by the beautiful mechanism, variety, 
and easy appliance of literary power which they dis- 
play. They are written in peculiarly pure and idio- 
matic English ; their author Jias carefully and wisely 
avoided all archaisms and other affectations so com- 



1842 

mon with many poets of the present day. No irrele- 
vances are introduced for the sake of metre or a rhyme ; 
by this feature alone, if not by more significant signs, 
the true poet may always be distinguished from the 
imitator. 

Mr. Bryant's poems seem to address the percipient 
and imaginative powers of the mind equally. We find 
in them the most unbounded faith in God and man — 
the most earnest aspirations for liberty, and the ad- 
vancement of the human race. They give expression 
to leader emotions — to gentle, rather than to burning 
and lawless passions. We meet on every page with 
calm great thoughts, the fruits of a pure life, lofty 
reflection, and patient investigation. Our author's bet- 
ter poems always remind us of the higher strains of 
Wordsworth. 

Mr. Bryant's volume consists of what may be called 
minor or occasional poems ; nor are we sorry for this. 
The love of epic poetry is dead. It may revive at some 
future period, but not in the present age. The following 
remarks by Goethe, appropos to this subject, are re- 
ported by Eckermartn. 

"Beware of attempting too large a work. That is 
what injures most of our best minds, and prevents fine 
talents, and earnest efforts, from accomplishing adequate 
results. I have steered from this cause, and know 
how pernicious it is. * * • * * The world is so great 
and rich, and life so full of variety, that you can never 
want occasions for poems. But tbey must all be oc- 
casional poems ; that is to say, reality must give both 
impulse and malarial for their production. A particular 
case becomes universal and poetic when managed by 
a poet. All my poems are occasional poems, having 
in real life, by which they were suggested, a firm foun- 
dation. I attach no value to poems woven from the 
air. Let no one say that reality wants a poetics, in- 
terest ; for in this doth the poet prove his vocation that 
he has the art to win from a common subject an inter- 
esting side. Reality must give the impulse, the sub- 
t'ect, the kernel, as 1 may say ; but to work ont a 
leautiful, animated whole, belongs to the poet." 

We do not intend entering upon a minute criticism 
of any of the poems contained in this last volume by 
Mr. Bryant ; onr opinion of them may be gathered from 
the preceding desultory remarks. The volume con- 
tains fifteen poems, none of which are to be found in 
any previous edition of the author's works. We con- 
sider " The Winds" and " The Antiquity of Freedom," 
the finest two in the collection. The former, which 
we copy, is quite characteristics!, and may be taken 
in evidence of the qualities which we have described 
it* author's poetry generally to possess. Its only fault— 
if that can be called a fault which could not well have 
been avoided — is the frequent iteration of the mono- 
syllable ft, particularly in the first stoma. 

THE WINDS. 



Y* winds, ye unseen currents of the air, 

Softly ye played a few brief hours agt> : 
Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair 

O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ; 
Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of bine ; 
Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew ; 
Before *#u the catalpa's blossoms flew, 

Lightbiossoms, dropping On the grass like snow 

it. 
How are ye changed ! Ye take the cataract's sound ; 

Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might ; 
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground ; 

rhe valley woods lie prone beneath your (light. 
The clouds before you snoot like eagles post ; 
The homes of men are rocking in your blast; 
Ye lift the rooft like nutitmn leaoet, and cue, 

Skyward, the whirling fragment* out of tight. 

in. 
The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, 

To scape your wrath; ye seize and dssft, them dead. 
Against the earth ye drive the roarinc rain ; 

The harveat field becomes a river*sn>ed : 
And torrents tumble from the hills around. 
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned. 
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound, 

Kise, n-> the rushing waters swell and spread. 



16 



Ve dsr* upon the deep, and straight it heard 
A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray } 

Ye fling its floods around you, u» a bird 
Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray. 

See! to the breaking mast the sailor clings; 

Ye tcoop the oxan to it$ briny tpringt. 

And take the mountain billow on your teing$, 
And pile th* wreck ofnaoiet round the bay. 

T. 

Why rage ye thusl — no strife for liberty 

Has made you mad ; no tyrant, strong through fear. 
Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free, 

And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere: 
For ye were born in freedom where ye blow ; 
Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go ; 
Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow, 

Her isles where summer blossoms all the year. 

VI. 

O yb wild winds ! a mightier Power than yours 
In chains upon the shores of Europe lies ; 

The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, 
Watch his mule throes with terror in their eyesi 

And armed warriors all around him stand. 

And, ss he struggles, tighten every band, 

And lift the heavy spear with threatening hand. 
To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise. 

VII. 

Yet oh. when that wronged Spirit of onr race. 

Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains 
And lesp in freedom from his prison-place, 

Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains, 
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air, 
To waste the loveliness that time coald spare, 
To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair 
Unconscious breast with blood from human veins 



But may he like the Spring-time ceme abroad, 

Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might, 
When in the genial breeze, the breath ol God, 

Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light; 
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet, 
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet 
And morn snd eve, whose glimmerings almost meet 

Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night. 



1843 



Mr. Emerson's I,e*tnre. 

Ralph W. Emerson delivered Tuesday even- 
ing at the Church in Elizabeth-street, his first Lec- 
ture on' Niw-Enocand,' — a discourse replete with 
profound and luminous perception, forcible expres- 
sion, and a forvid, innate eloquence. The origin 
of the People of New-England, the Religious spirit 
of their ancestors, and the influence of each oa their 
past history and present state, were considered 
and presented as only he could have presented 
them. We will not report this Lecture, nor any 
portion of its language, as we trust it will be ro- 
peated before he leaves our city — the audience ha- 
ving been thinner than it would have been in a more 
accessible place, and on a less Inclement evening. 
He chose New-England as his theme, he said, not 
because the virtues to which he should allude were 
more strongly developed there than in other sec- 
tions of the land, or because others were lets lia- 
ble to the criticisms he should venture ; but be- 
cause that district might serve as a central sec- 
tion, a soi t of ganglion for the whole, whence are 
radiated the influences of life and thought. The 
origin of the English nation was graphically 
sketched— that nation now the most powerful and 
most highly civilized on the face of the globe, whose 
arms even now cenquer the East, as they before 
have planted the West, whose arts minister to the 
power, the pride, or the comfort of every other 
land, whose observatory at Greenwish furnishes a 
calendar for the Earth, whose chronometers mea- 
sure time for all the world, and yet whose moral 
weight is of the greatest worth, it being a land of 
Established Law, where the principles of justice 



N.Y. Weekly Tr ibune , 
2-11-43, page 1. 



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1843 

bilit. Tlieia tr aits huvo had great Influence from lU it 
vast expansion which destiny has given to the Brit- 
ish raco. 

We, said Mr. Emerson, are that; people. The 
blood of the Bersekir runsaredly through our veins. 
Among the people of New-England, whuro in this 
country tbo population is mo9t homogeneous, the 
British character is extended but not altered. The 
two points which most distinguish the Knglish peo- 
ple— their conscience and common sense — are hem 
most clearly seen. 

Mr. Emerson proceeded to speak of the char- 
acter of those early Puritans who came to this 
country, aa the most religious men of that religious 
era. All history ifl the record of but few thoughts ; 
• few thoughts build State* and Cities, The 

cause seems most inadequate to the effect, but 
who shall tell from what crater shot up that speck 
that set the world on fire 7 When the Puritans 
came to this country they had many wants, but 
more satisfactions; the light snuggled through 
oilfd paper into {their cabin windows, but by it they 
read the word of God ; they were fain to make 
tables of their knees, but their limbs were their 
own ; and to their ears the howling winds of the 
forest sounded with more musical tones than the 
smooth voice of the English prelate*. There was 
an objectivity — an outwardness which character- 
ised all the religion ef the Saxons- It was not 
philosophical ner spiritual : vet it was full of af- 
fection and took strong hold of the imagination 
and the heart. The objects of the other world 
took bodily form to their eyes, and of this the Life 
of Luther, his Table Talk, Paradise Lost and Bun- 
yan's record are marked examples. How richly 
this stream from Antiquity descended into New- 
England every town bears witness, and it stands in 
cold contrast with the theology of the schools, like 
a religion in the blood. 

One of the most marked features of New-Eng- 
land is the intellectual culture which from the ear- 
liest days of its colonization ha* existed there. 
Provision for universal education of the children of 
every township was made at once ; to these Schools 
have succeeded the village Lyceum; and from 
New-England have continually gone forth young 
men as teachers or preachers to the other States. 
Such is the value every where attached to the 
means of sound and thorough culture that all po- 
litical and religious prejudice* at once give way 
before it. If the re»ult of this spirit be sought it 
may be found most perfectly exhibited in a poor 
but educated family — such as abound throughout 
her borders. 

This superior intellectual cultare is one result of 
the deep religious sentiment which belongs to the 
Saxon race : for there is nothing else that has aa 
equal powor to refine the manners of the mind, 
net the most cultivated taste, no habits of conver- 
sation, no association in the best society, produce 
so delicate a sensibility or so grand a bearing as 
belong to the mind accustomed to celestial conver- 
sation. This influence it greatly needed among 
thi* people— a* a counteracting force to that utili- 
tarian tendency that mark* their character. 

To the «elf-denying, ardent Christians of the 
early day* of New-England Mr. Emerson thought, 
have succeeded a cold, intellectual race, who re- 
ject the yoke of authority and with constant petu- 
lance teem to make a boast of how little they be- 
lieve. They have principles for faith and good 
taste instead of character. Yet nothing could be 
clearer than that all thi* unbelief proceeds from a 
deeperbelief. The old forms are found pot to be suffi- 
cient, and they must be put away. We are now in the 
transition state from the Jewish idea to a more 
universal thought,— to the perception of the uni- 
versal presence of that law which was once sup- 
posed to be confined to one class of men. Mr. E. 
closed his Lecture, of which we have aimed to 
present nothing more thaa a very meager outline, 
by urging the duty of boldly following whatever 
new and bolder thoughts spring up at the present 
day, of the folly of opposing this movement of the 
world, which will work through us if we will, and 



17 

crush us if we resist, and of the necessity of pre- 
serving, not only our adherence to integrity and 
principle in preference to personal interest, but a 
religious faith in all the walks and pursuits of life. 
The unfolding of tbis universal religious sentiment 
constitutes all that is best in the history of New- 
England. 

[p. 3] Social Sfitncc. 

[Communicated by the Friends of As«rciatieo.| 

Popular Ignorance or>on Social Quts- 
tione — O. A. Bronxon. 

The November end February Number* of the 
Democratic Review contain articles from the pen 
of O. A. Brownson, which manifest upon some 
points of Social Science an ignorance so singular, 
that we consider it a duty to point them out, nnd 
recommend to Mr. B. the study of a Doctrine which 
he misrepresents in a gross manner. 

The laws and principles which govern the So- 
cial existence of Mankind, or human Societies, 
should be reduced to a Science, as fixed and posi- 
tive as Astronomy or Chemistry; but, so far from 
this being the case, the greatest confusion and un- 
certainty exists in this department of human 
Knowledge. Every Country entertains different 
views of Government and the constitution of So- 
ciety, or of political and social principles, and in 
each Country different parties advocate different 
and conflicting principles. In Politics and social 
Science, all is confusion, doubt and uncertainty ; — 
at was the case in Astronomy, before the discove- 
ries of CorEF.NlCDS and Niwton, when Astrology 
occupied the attention of Men ; or in Chemistry, 
before it was reduced to a Science, and when Al- 
chemy was in vogue. 

Within the last fifty years, some Men of genius 
have endeavored to constitute a Social Science ; 
er, in other words, to reduce the laws and princi- 
ples which should govern human Society to a fixed 
Science. These men should have received the 
thanks of the World for their efforts ; but, like 
Pioneers in all new Sciences, they have been con- 
demned by popular Ignorance and Prejudice, which 
believe that each age has arrived at the ultimate 
term of human Knowledge. 

Among those Men we find in Germany, Kracse ; 
in France, St. Simon, B allanche and some others; 
and in this Country, Chan ninq has entered partially 
into the field of Social Reform. But above all these, 
rise* a man of genius who, after having devoted forty 
years of labor to the discovery of the laws of a true 
Organization of Society, and havirg sunk into the 
tomb, i* now beginning to be appreciated by some 
of the leading Minds of Europe and other parts of 
the World. That maa is Charles Fourier. 

Fourier discovered the laws which should govern 
the Social existence ef Humanity upon Earth, or a 
true system of Society, — a* Copernicus, Ketler 
and Newton discovered the laws which regulate 
.the movements of the Planets, or a true system of 
Astronomy. Fourier's discoveries embrace a 
broad field of Scientific investigation ; be has ex- 
plained the laws which govern the Moral and In- 
tellectual World, — he has defined and explained 
the Rights of Maa, and the great question of hu- 
man Liberty; he ha* pointed out the Destiny of 

Man upon Earth ; proved, scientifically, the im- 
mortality of the Soul ', and explained with detail 
the mechanism and constituent parts of a true So- 
cial Order, which can be tested on a moral scale 
by a tingle Association, and, if found good and 
true in practice, can be spread and rendered uni- 
versal. The readers of The Tribune, who take an 
interest in social questions, have been able to form 



1843 

some idea of that part of Fourier's System which 
relates to the practical organization of a single 
Association. 

It is very excusable in The Herald or Morning 
Pott to ridicule or attack the Doctrine of Asso- 
ciation, because they have not time nor inclination 
to study it, but when a man like O. A. Brownson, 
who claims to be a thinker, aa investigator of new 
principles, and to discuss' profound questions of 
Social Science, betrays the complete ignorance 
which ho does of one of the most remarkable sys- 
tems which the gonius of Man has produced, we 
consider it an imperative duty to expose his un- 
warrantable mistakes, — for he slanders a great 
Man and misleads Public Opinion. In the No- 
vember number of The Democratic Review, he 
says that ho hat not been able to submit to the 
drudgery of fully mastering Fourier's System, 
(we feel certain that he has not read one line of 
Fodrier's own works,) and then goes on to tay : 
" His Theodicia, or Theodicy, is, if we understand 
" it, nothing but material Pantheism, a polite name 
" for Atboism." 

The Heathen word " Pantheism," as The Lon- 
don Phalanx justly remarks, is never used or im- 
plied by Fourier. All creatures in the Universe, 
whatever be their magnitude, are finite. Tbey are 
generated, born, live and die. to live again as 
creatures finite nnd immortal ; but they are not 
gods. " There is one God, and none other but 
He." — (Mark) " The Everlasting God, the Lord, 
the Cieator of the endt of the earth, failelh not, 
neither is he weary." — (Isaiah.) 

In his Work, Fourier demonstrates beautifully 
that God governs the Universe by Love or Attrac- 
tion, and regulates it by Wisdom, or law* of eter- 
nal and mathematical justice, and that he does so 
with conscientiousness, and is a personality — infi- 
nite in Love and infinite in Wisdom. The whole 
System ef Fourier is based upon the Universality 
of Ged's Providence, and integral (or genuine and 
thorough) faith in his Love and Wisdom. Betides, 
Fourier labored, silently and unknown, for forty 
years, for the happiness and elevation of his fellow 
men — fulfilling at least the second great Command- 
ment, " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." 

How unjust — wantonly and ignorantly unjust 
to accuse, before a Public which is religiously dis- 
posed like that of this Country — a great, benevolent 
and deeply-religious Mind of Atheism ! ! Has Mr. 
Brownson any respect for his own reputation? 
Does he with to draw upon himself the contempt 
of a large number of reflecting Minds in France, 
England and this Country, icko know what Fou- 
rier's views are? We are the friend of Mr. 
Brownion — but not when he outrages Truth and 
Justice. 

In the February Number of The Democratic 
Review, Mr. B., in speaking' ef Communities or 
Associations, says: — "The Community must not 
" seek to become a little world in itself. If we 
" understand Fourier's tcheme, the Phalanx (or 
" Association) seeks to be self-sufficing. Eighteen 
" hundred, or at most, two thousand persons, it is 
" said, make up a number adequate to meet all the 
" exigences of human nature, and to provide for the 
" highest and fullest, and most varied life of hu- 
" inanity. Evidently, then, the disciples of Fou- 
" rier contemplate no necessity, except it may be 
" by way of amusement, for one Community to hold 
" intercourse with another. But a slight glance at 
" the diversities of soil and productions of the dif- 
" fenint parts of the Globe would satisfy ut that 
"aomo of these l'halunxet must be restricted to a 



("Cont'd on p. 19.] 



1843 

Imprisonment of A. Dromon Alcott- 

To //<- Editor of ilir Ubrrutnr. 

Sir — Another stone in llu< oil ca-i lo of liuinan 
wrong- [ins I Ins dav boon loosened, ol" u Inch you and 
your readers will he inten Med in learning tho par- 
lictil.irs, if, in (In- uiiiiviii Inbiii excitement i>l the oc- 
«:i~ni ii , Ihey ran In' reported. Thousands feci llir in- 
iquity nl' llir mi orporati d slate system as keenly as 
the tit il lions have IV II the incompatibility and base- 
in -i nl the incorporated rlinrrli system. A forced 
church, a tyrannous love, has long been fill to lir 
mi church and no love whatever; mid nm a few per- 
sons in tliis* country, as will a* in all other pans of 
(lie world, am fullv prepared lo suffer violence, perse- 
rulion and death, rntlior tlnin commit any act tu sup- 
port such faint' and forced Christianity. But of the 
numbers who feel tl at the State, when it rail* upon 
us by it* club law, its mere brigand right of a strong 
arm, to sii [ijiort gun* ar.d bayonet*, murderous armies 
and navies, legislilors, jiulgcs, jailers, executioners, 
teachers, <Vc. &c. no one has yet, it serins, ventured 
imicl upon Ihe conviction, mid passively endure the 
fcfr«J5tfqtienccs, whatever they might he, of n faithful 
adherence to principle. It is often said, that in a con- 
dition of society where one is obliged lo let pass so 
much that is immoral, it is not worth while lo under- 
go so much inconvenience as close imprisonment on 
account of Slate prosecution. 

Very different to this, however, has hern the feel- 
ing of A. Bkokson At coi r. of Concoid ; and being 
convinced that the payment of tbe town lax involved 
principles and practices most degrailnflAand injurious 
to man, he had long determined mil to be a voluntary 
party to its continuance, Last year, by the leniency 
of tbe collector in prepaying tbe I l-'i dollar, the 
question was not brougbt to issue, anil only the hum- 
blest instrument of the Slate wns subdued, in no far 
as he declared the law was too base for him to exe- 
cute. This year, a step further bus been gained. 

By the system of nutting up the collector's oHicc lo 
public auction, and accepting the man w ho will do tliu 
dirty work lor the lowest per celltage, the town is 
pretly sure to secure the t-crviies of the most tuilablo 
instrument of its tyranny. When the citizens gene- 
rally shall take the trouble lo look into the law and 
the circumstances of ibis affair, ihey will shudder al 
the slavery to which Ihey subject themselves , and the 
sooner they do so, the belter ; for greater oppressions 
than any ihey have thrown off, have grown from 
smaller beginnings. 

Tina year, a collector was appointid, w ho woj|-^»sU- 
fCjfh [Ik law ; ami although no doubt it went hard 
witb him to rii.ilili ;i man away from Ins home, KHhf 
l..< wife, from the provision and education of I. is lit- 
tle children, in winch latter he found .Mr. Alcoll sc- 
iciiel) engaged, he nevertheless did it lie witness- 
ed, with Ins own eves, tbe little hasty preparations to 
alionJ him to the jail, the packing up a few personal 
conveniences to waid oil' tbe inclemencies of the sea- 
son, and yet, with no higher authority than the gen- 
eral warrant in his pocket, which, without particular 
investigation, trial, or inquiry, hands over tl e liberty 
oft-very townsman to his disi retion, be took a I'eUow- 
< iiizi-ii, an uui ffendiug man, in a long confinement. 



18 



To tin- coiiiny j.n I, therefore, ,\|r. A Iron went, or 
rather was forced by the benignant Slate and its del- 
nale instrument, i'lnh.ibjy the authorities antici- 
pated 1 1 1 :it if they showed a lii-iJ fjelcimi rilion In en- 
force: ibis obi monstrous 
be discovered somewhei' 



1843 



i'. n, a weakness would 
that domestic attractions 
wouldvbu too potent , th it v\ i \ e or f. iend would infer- 
ferr,-.ond pay the money. But tin y were mistaken. 
A virtuous man is not often siiiroiin.lcd bv friends, 
who would persuade him to deseit conscience, and 
turn his back upon moral principles, just at liic trying 
moment. In ibis case, al all events, no one was un- 
wise enough so to net. 

Having worked up to lliis point, it appears the en- 
emy's courage failed. The constable collector hav- 
ing (nought his victim to the jail, ibe next step was 
to ti n tl the jailer, who appeared lo be not al home. A 
e«nsidcrahto delay ensued, .luring which the prisoner, 
•f course, waited patiently ; and after nearly two 
hours bad thus been passed, the constable- announced 
thnl be no longer hud a right to detain bis caption.— 
On inquiring how that happoned, ho said that bolli 
the tax and costs had been paid. To the question, by 
whom the payment bad been m.llfe, he replied by 
naming a guntlemail who may be regarded, and who 
would willingly bo regarded, as the very personifies., 
lion of the State. 

In these fhcls, humble as the individual ami tue cir- 
cumstances may appear, wo have a wide ami deep 
subject for reflection, which I trust you will not per- 
mit to pass In a barren manner. This act of nen-ro- 
sislancc, you will porei ivc, does not rest on the plea 
of poverty For Mr. Alcott has always supplied some 
poor neighbor with food and clothing to a much higher 

•TOTount than Ins tux. Neither is i. wholly based on 
the iniquitous purposes to which the money when 
collected is applied. I'tr part of it is devoted to ed- 
ucation, and education has not a heartier friend in the 
woi Id than Bronson Alcoll. Bui it is founded on 
the inoiul instinct which forbids every moral being to 
he a party, cither actively or pcrmisr.ivcly, lo llir: de- 
structive principles of power and might over peace 
and love. 

Suppose tin- laj well levied by the luwu in its ca- 
price, and the full value oi the amount wire lobe 
returned the next d.iy to cub payer in bread. Would 
it not he a sacred dnty in every man, in the virtuous 
integrity of bis nature, lo deny such a procovdin" ? 
Doubtless il would. All but the meanest souls would 
thereby be raised to dis-.inncx themselves from the 
false and tyrannous assumption, that Ihe human will 
is lo be subject to the brute force which Ihe majority 
may set up. Il is only tolerated by public opinion, 
because the fact is not yet perceived that all the true 
purposes of tbe corporate slate may as easily be car- 
ried out on tin: revolutionary principle, as all the true 
purposes of ihe collective church, liv cry uin: can see 
that the Church is wrong when it comes to men with 
the Bible in one hind, mid 'the swurd in the other. 
And is it r.oi equally diabolical 1 for flic Sta'e to do So - 
The name is of small importance. When Church und 
Slot* are divorced by public opinion, ihey still may 



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1843 



" very meagre bill of Cure. » • • • • 
" Or, ugain : Do these disciples anticipate thut they 
" shall lx> able to change the climate ami the entire 
"nature of the soil, so that thoy can grow rico and 
" cotton on our granite cliffs ol New-England? " 

Thin remark betrays a worse moral foature than 
that of ignorancu, for it imputes to Fourier and 
his disciples a puerility and shallowness of views, 
of which in not one of their writings they have 
been guilty. They wuli to establish an Associa- 
t^n, bo that a,, world can judge of tho principles 
in practice on a small sculo, and then sproad utid 
render them universal. The As.ocmtiens in differ- 
cnt puts of the globfl will deal extensively with 
each other, — exchangigg their productions, &c, 
and communication by traveling and other means 
will be universal. 

But Mr. Brownson himself contradicts in the 
November number of the same Periodical the 
assertion which we have quoted above. lie says, 
speaking of the Brook Form Association, thru 
" Fourier proposes with ' malice aforethought' the 
re-organization of society." In another place, that 
the Brook Farm Community seems to him to es- 
cape all tho objections which he has raised against 
Fourior. " It is simple, unpretending, and pre- 
seots itself by bo means as ft grand plan of world- 
reform or of social organization, " and a littlo lower 
"No man among us (speaking- of Mr. Ripley, the 
founder of Brook Farm,) is better acquainted with 
tho various plans of world-reform which have been 
projected from riato's Republic to Fourier's Pha- 
lanx."!!! 

We beg of Mr. Brownson, for the sake of hit 
own reputation, to study the system of Fourier be- 
fore he talks so freely of it. It is attracting the atten- 
tion of the country far more than any system of 
philosophy or any other plan of social reform, which 
is now advocated, and he should not be ignorant 
of it. B. 



[p. 2] 

Hawthorne's paper " The New Adam and 
Eve" is admirable, written in his best vein, which 
is certainly as good as any reasonable man could 
ask. The visits of the new inhabitants, to the 
clothing shops, the banks, churches, parlors, pri- 
sons and other places left by the swept-off dwellers 
upon the earth are well told and full of instruction. 
The moral of the whole is well told in the open- 
ing sentence: 

"We, who are born into the world's artificial 
system, can never adequately know how little in 
our present state and circumstances is natural and 
how much is merely the interpretation of the per- 
verted mind and heart of man." 



03* Ralph Waldo Emerson closed his Lec- 
tures in Philadelphia on Friday evening, when he 
was listened to with atteatien and delight by a 
large audience. The Philadelphia Gazette says : 

" Mr. Emerson is known, here aad elsewhere, 
as a ' transcendentalism' deeply imbued with the 
philosophy of the school thus denominated, and 
yet himself not of any school, neither of the porti- 
co nor the grove. His writings have kindled a 
flame of poetic fervor in bosoms, that seemed 
strewed with the ashes of wasted fires, and called 

up to action springs of benevolence that had long 
since sunk beneath the surface. And those who 
bare gone to listen U>, and, perhaps, to smile at, 
the philosophy of the Transcendentalists, have 
felt their hearts warmed into benevolence by the 
persuasions of his eloquence, and peculiarities in 
the belief of the speaker have been overlooked in 



19 
the gush of new and better thoughts that he had 
called up. We do not always find the good we 
seek, but our disappointment in' the object is some- 
times overpaid by the excellence of the unexpected 
discovery.' 



BCf" We find the following in the Southern Rose; 
we copy it for the beauty of the fancy it so well 
developes : 

Ralph Waldo Emerson is like unto a man, who 
saith ante all the children and dear middle aged 
people of his neighborhood — O come, let us go 
yonder and dance u beautiful dance, at tho foot of 
the rainbow. — There will be treasures beneath our 
feet, and drops of ull colors over our heads ; and 
we shrill be in tho very presence of the mysteries 
of nature. And we and the rainbow shall be one 
— and the drops shall be beaufy — and the drops 
shall bo usefulness — and the drops shall be right- 
eousness and purity of heart — and mortality and 
immortality shull be identical — and sin and holi- 
ness — and labor and rest — vulgarity and gentility — 
study and idleness — solitude and society — black and 
white, shall all become one great commingled ho- 
mogeneous and heierogeneous spot of puie glori- 
fication forever. 

Then all the children, and dear middle oged 
people exclaimed beautiful! beautiful! Let us 
go yonder und dance beneath the foot of the rain- 
bow. And thoy all go forth with Emeitson at their 
head, and Carltle in advance of him — and 
Ritchter, Spinosa several rods in advance of 
Carlyle — and they soek the foot of tho rainbow ; 
hut it recedes us they proceed. At longth, wear- 
ied und shuttered, they all return to tho humble 
village, and will be contented with admiring the 
rainbow at a distance, and will be grateful fo\ tho 
dark, colorless diops, that come down to refresh 
their heads, and will permit both rainbow and 
drops to carry up their thoughts to tho Mysterious 
Being who created the whole, together with them- 
selves — and so continue to walk piously and prac- 
tically to thoir graves. 



N.Y. Weekly Tribun e 
2-25-43, p. 1. 



*< 



From Godey's Lady's Book for March. 

$3 &ebclatiou of a J)rtb:ous JLtfa, 

EY V. T. WILLIS. 

•' Our birlb is but a sleep and a forgetlin^, 
The soul that lises in us, our life's star, 
His had else where its betting. 
And comeib from afar." IFordmorlk. 

The death of a lady in a foreign land loaves me 
«t liberty to narrate the circumstunces which 
■follow. 

A few werds of previous explanation, however. 

I am inclined to believe, from conversations on 
tho subject with many sensible persons, that there 
•are few men who have not had, at different inter- 
vals in their lives, sudden emotions, currents of 
thought, afleetions of mind and body, which not 
enly were wholly disconnected with the courgo of 
lifo thus interrupted, but seemed til belong to a 
whelly different being. 

Perhaps I shall somewhere touch the reader's 
experience by describing rather minutely, and in 
the first person, some sensations of this kind not 
unusual to myself. 

Walking in a erowded street, for example, in 
perfect health, with every faculty gaily alive, I 
suddenly lose the sense of neighborhood. I see — 
I hear — but I feel as if I had become invisible 
where I stand, and was at the same time present 
and visible elsewhere. I know every thing that 
passes around me, but I seem disconnected, and 

i magnetically speaking) unlinked from tho human 
eings near. If spoken to at such a moment, I 
answer with difficulty. The person who speaks 
seems addressing me from a world to whieli I no 



1843 

longer belong. At the same time I have an irre 
sistible inner consciousness of being present in 
another scene of every-day life — where there are 
streets and houses and people — where I am looked 
on without surprise as a familiar objei:t — where I 
have cares, fears, objects to attain — a different 
scene altogether, and a different life, from the 
scene and life of which I was a moment before 
conscious. 1 have n dull ache at tho back of my 
eyes for the minute or two that this trance lasts, 
and then, slowly and reluctantly, my absent seul 
seems creeping back, the rnngnetic links of con- 
scious neighborhood, one '-\ one, re-attach, and I 
resume my ordinury life, but with an irrepressible 
feeling of sadne.s. 

It is in vain that I try to fix these shadows as 
thoy rjecde. I huve struggled a thuusurttl limes in 
vain to parliculurise and note down what I saw in 
aii* strange city to which I was transluiod. The mem- 
ory glides from my grasp with preternatural eva- 
siveness. 

In a book called ' The Man of Two Lives,' sim- 
ilar sensutions to these are made tho basis of the 
story. Indeed, till I saw that book, the fear of 
having my sanity suspected, sealed my lips on tho 
subject. 

I have still a reserve in my cenfession. I have 
been conscious, since boyhood, of a mental pecu- 
liarity which I fear to name while I doubt that it 
is possessed by others than myself — which I should 
»ot allude to now, but that it forms a strungo link 
of ideality between mo and anothar being to be 
■aontioned in this story. 

I may say, also, without attaching any import- 
ance to it, except as it boars upon this same iden- 
tity, that, of those things which I had no occasion to 
be taught, or which I did, us the common phrase 
is, by intuition, drawing was the easiest and most 
passionately followed of my boyish pursuits. 

With these preliminaries, and probably some 
similar experience of his own, tho render may hap- 
ly form a woof on which to embroider the follow'- 
ing circumstances. 

Traveling through Slyria, some years since, I 
chanced te have, for a fellow-occupant of tho coupe 
of a diligence, n very courteous and well-bred per- 
son, a gentleman of Graiz. As wo rolled slowly 
along on tho banks of tho Murr, approaching his 
native town, ho very kindly invited me to remain 
with him a day or two, offering me, as an induce- 
ment, a presentation at the soirte of a certain lady 
of consequence, who was to receive, on the night 
of our arrival, and at whose houso I shoulc see, 
some fair specimens of the beauty ef Styria. 

Accepted. 

It was a lovely summer's night, when wo strolled 
through the principal street, toward our gay desti- 
nation, and as I drew upon my friend's arm to stop 
him while the military band of tho fortress finished 
a delicious waltz, (they were playing in the pub- 
lic square,) he pointed out to mo the spacious bal- 
conies of the Countess's palace, whither we wero 
going, crowded with the well-dressed company, 
listening silently to the same enchanting music. 
Wo entered, and after an interchange of compli- 
ments with the hostess, I availed myself of my 
friend's second introduction to take a stand in one 
of the balconies beside the person I was presented 
te, and under cover of her favor, te hear oat the 
unfinished music of the band. 

As the evening daikened, the lights gleamed out 
from the illuminated rooms more brightly, and 
most ef the guests deserted the balconies and join- 
ed the gayer circles within. Tho music ccaesd at 
the beat of the drum. My companion in the bal- 
cony was a very quiet young lady, und like myself 
she seemed subdued by the sweet harmonies we 
had listened to, and willing to r*main without tho 
shadow of the curtain. We were not alone there, 
however. A tall lady of vsry stitely presence, and 
with the remains of rcmurkuble beauty, stood on 
the opposite side of the balcony, and she too seem- 
ed to shrink from the glare within, and cling to the 
dewy darkness of tho summer night. 

After the cessation of the music there was no 



1843 

loegeran excuse for intermittent conversation, and 
starting a subject which afforded rather freer scopo 
I did my best to credit my friend's flattering intro- 
duction, I had discoursed away for half an hour 
very unreservedly before I discovered that, with 
h«r hand upon her side, in an attitude of repressed 
•motion, the tall lady was earnestly listening to me. 
A third person embarrasses even the most indif- 
ferent dialogue. The conversation languished, and 
my companion rose and took my arm for a prom- 
enade through the rooms. 

Later in the evening nay friend came in search 
of me to the supper-room. 

" Mon ami!" he said, "a great honor has 
fallen out of the sky for you. I am sent to bring 
you to the beau rette. of the handsomest woman of 
Styria — Margaret, Baroness Ft , whose cha- 
teau I pointed out to you in the gold light of yes- 
terday's sunset. She wishes to know you — why I 
•annot wloelly divine — for it is the first sign ef ordi- 
nary feeling that she has given in twenty years. 
But she menu agitated, and sits alone in the Count- 
ess's Uoadoir. Allons-y ! " 

As wo made eur way through the crowd, he has- 
tily sketched ma an outline of the lady's history :' 
" At seventeen tuken from u convent £01 a forced 
marriage with tho baron whoso namo bIio boars; 
eighteen a widow, mid, for the first time, in love — 
tho sul>j.-ct of her passion a young nrtist of Vienna 
on his way to Italy. Tho unist died at hor cha- 
teau — they wore to have boen married — she has 
eversinco worn weeds for him. And tho remaindor 
you must imagine — for hero we are! " 

Tho Baroness loaned with her elbow upon a 
small tablo of or molu, and her position was bo 
taken that I seated mysolf necessarily in strong 
light, whrro her features were in shadow. Still 
the light was sufficient to bIiow me tho expression 
of her countenance. Sho was a womon apparently 
about forty-fivo, of noble physiognomy, and a pe- 
culiar fullness ef tho eyelid — something like to 
which I thought I remember to havo seon in a 
portrait of a young girl many years before. The 
resemblance troubled me somewhat. 

" You will pardon mo this freedom," said tho 
Baroness with forced composure, " when I tell 
you, that — a friend — whom I hove mourned twen- 
ty-five years — seems present to me when you 
speak." 

I was silent, for I knew not what to say. The 
Baroness shaded her eyes with her hand, and sat 
silent for a few moments, gazing at mo. 

" You are not like him in a single feature," she 
resumed, " yet the expression of your face, strange- 
ly, very strangely, is the same. He was darker — 
slighter " — 

" Of my age?" I inquired, to break my own si- 
lehce. For there was something in her voice which 
gave mo the sensation of a voice heard in a dream. 

"Oh God! that voice! that voice!" she ex- 
claimed wildly, burying her face in her hands, and 
giving way to a passionate burst of tears. 

" Itodolph," she resumed, recovering herself 
with a strong effort, " Rodolph diod with a prom- 
ise on his lips tnat death should net divide us. — 
And I have seen him ! Not in dreams — not in re- 
verie — not at times when my fancy could delude 
me. I have seen him suddenly before me in the 
street — in Vienna — hete — at home at noonday — 
for minutes together, gazing on mo. It was more 
in latter years that I have been visited by him ; and 
a hope has latterly sprung into being in my heart 
— I know not how — that in person, palpable and 
breathing, I should again hold converse with him 
— fold him living to my bosom. Pardon me! You 
will think me mad!" 

I might well pardon her; for, as she talked, a 
vague sense of familiarity with her voice, a memo- 
ry, powerful though indistinct, of having before 
dwelt 00 those majestic features, an impulse of 
tearful p»ssionatenes3 to rush to her embrace, 
well-nigh ovorpowered me. She turned to rae 
again. 

" You are an artist T" said she inquiringly. 

"No; though intended for one, Ileolieve, by na- 
ture." 



30 

" And you wore born in the year ." 

" I was !" 

With a scream she added the day of my birth, 
aud waiting an instant for my assent, dropped to 
the ffoor and «lung convulsivtjy and weeping to my 
knoes, 

" Hodolph! Rodolph !" she murmured faintly, as 
her long grey tresses fell over ho shoulders, and 
her head dropped insensibly upon htr brtast. 

Ilor cry hud been beard, and several persons en- 
tered tho room. 1 rushed out of doors. 1 had need 
to be in durUnoss nnd ulone. 

It was an hour after mid-night when I retntered 
my hotel. A chasseur stood sentry at the door of 
my apurtmunt with a letter in his hand. He culled 
me by name, guvo mo his missive, and disappear^!. 
It wits from the Biironoss, and run thus: 

" You did not retire from mo to sleep. This 
lotter will find you waking. And I must writo, 
for my heuit und brain ure ovorllowing. 

" Shall 1 writo to you as a stranger ? — you 
whom I huvo strained so often to my bosom— you 
whom I huvo loved und still lovo with the utmost 
idolatry of moral passion — you who have once 
given mo tho soul that, like a gem long lost, it 
found again, but in a newer casket ! Mine still — 
for did we not awear to lovo forovor ! 

" But I am taking counsel of my own heart only. 
You may still bo unconvinced. You may think 
that a few singular eoincldonces have driven me 
mad. You may think that, though born in the 

sumo hour that my Rudolph diod, possessi- g ihn 
Barne voice, tho sumo countenance, the »'inin gifts 
— though by irresistible consciousneiis I know you 
to lie him — my lost lover returned in another body 
to life — you mny still think the evidenco incom- 
plete — you may, perhaps, even now, bo smiling in 
pity at my delusion. Indulge one moment. 

" 1 ho Hodolph Isenberg whom I lost, possessed 
a faculty of mind, which, if you ore he, answers 
with the voice of an angel to my appeal. In that 
soui resided, and, wherever it be, must now reside, 
tho singular power" « • » » 

(The reader must bo content with my omission 
of this fragment of tho letter. It contained a se- 
cret never before clothed in language — a secret that 
will die with me, unles betrayed by what indeed 
it may lead to — madness ! As I saw it in writing 
— defined accurately and inevitably in the words 
of another — I felt as if the innermost chambor of 
my soul was suddenly laid open to the day — I aban- 
doned doubt — I answered to tho name by which 

she called me — I believed in the previous exist- 
ence of which my whole life, no less than these ex- 
traordinary circumstances, had furnished me with 
repeated evidence. But, to resume the letter.) 

" And now that we know each other again — 
now that I can call you by name, as in the past, 
and bo sure that your inmost consciousness must 
reply — a new terror seizes me ! Your soul comes 
back, youthfully and newly clad, while mine, though 
of unfading freshness and youthfulness within, 
shows to your eyo the same outer garment grown 
dull with mourning and faded with the wear of 
time. Am I grown distasteful? Is it with the 
sight only of this new body that you look upon 
me? Rodolph ! — spirit that was my devoted and 
passionate admirer! soul that was sworn to me 
forever! — am I — the same Margaret, re-found and 
recognised, grown repulsive? Oh God! What a 
bitter answer would this bo to my prayers for your 
roturn to me ! 

" I will trust in Him whose benign goodness 
smiles upon fidelity in love. I will piepare a fitter 
meeting for two who parted as lovers. You shall 
not see me again in the house of a stranger and in 
a mourning attire. When this letter is written I 
will depart at once for the scone of our love. I 
hear my horses already in the coutt-yard, and 
whilo you read this I am speeding swiftly home. 
Tho bridal dress you were secretly shown the day 
before death came between us, is still freshly kept. 
The room where we sat — thebowers by the stream 
— the walks where we projected eur sweet pro- 
mise of a future — they shall all be mado ready. 
They shall be as they were! And I — oh Rodolph, 



1843 

I shall be the same ! My heart has not grown old, 
Rodolph! Believe me, I am unchanged in soul! 
And I will strive to be — I will strive to look — God 
holp me to look and be — as of yore! 

"Farewell now! I leave horses and servants to 
wait on you till I send to bring you to me. Alas, 
for any delay ! but we will pass this life and all 
other time together. We have seen that a vow of 
eternal union may be kept — that death cannot di- 
vide those who will to love forever ! Farewell now ! 

Margaret." 

Circumstances compelled me to read this letter 
with but one feeling, exquisite pain ! Love lasts 
till death, but it is moitul! Tho affections, how- 
ever intense and faithful, (I now knew,) aro part 
of the, perishable roil, forgotten in the gruvo. With 
tho memory of this lovo «f another life, haunting 
me through my youth, nnd koeping its vow of visi- 
tation, I h.vl given the whole heart of iny second 
youth to another. Affianced to her, waited fur by 
her, boui.d to hor by vows which death had nnt di- 
vided, I bad but 0110 course to pursue. IlcftGratz 
in nn hour, never to return. 

A few ilnys since I wns walking alono ia tho 
crowdod thoroughfare of tho city tvhoro I live. — 
Suddenly my senso of pretence there fell off' me. 
I walked on, but my inward si^jlit absorbed all my 
consciousness. A room which wus familiar to mo 
shut mo in, nnd u bed hung in mourning became 
apparent. In another instant a figure laid ant in a 
winding sheet, and partially covered with a velvet 
pall, grew distinct through the dimness, and in tho 
low luid head I recognised, what a presentiment 
had already betrayed to mo, the features of Mar- 
garet Baroness R . It will be still mon, lis 

liofore I can see tho announcement of her death. 
But she is dead. 

fp. 2] 

OCT The W^cjt Roxuury Community, (nine 
miles from Boston,) having enlarged their build- 
ings and other accommodations, offer to receive 
and educate a few more children and young per- 
sons on terms not dissimilar from the higher Aca- 
demical institutions throughout the Country. The 
peculiarities of Education at this Seminary are so 
marked that we are induced te mention some of 
the more prominent as hints to Instructors and 
themes of reflection for Parents generally. 

In the first place, the least possible restraint is 
used over the children placed there for Education, 
and the least practicable monifestation of Author- 
ity or Superiority made on 'he port of their Teach- 
ers and elders. Tho design is to inculcate ideas 
of. Freedom, Equality and Responsibility in tender 
years. Every child is made to feel that what is 
elsewhere enforced by Punishment is here confi- 
dently expected from hit Self-Respect, Intelligence, 
Gratitudo and Love. 

Again : Childron, especially the very young, aro 
not rigidly required to devote so many hours per 
day to the st^dy of their lessons, but every effort is 
made to awaken their interest in tho acquisition 
of Knowledge, to load thorn to tolicil instruction, 
and, having a liberal range of hours and fields for 
exercise and recreation, to feel no constraint, for- 
mality or irksomeness in the School-room, but to 
enjoy the lesson as much as the holiday intermis- 
sion. 

Thirdly : It is intended that the whole Intellec- 
tual nnd Moral being of the pupils shall here be 
developed in perfect hnrmony with the Physical; 
so that no child shall be occupied with the techni- 
calities of the Latin Grammar before it has learned 
the meaning of an English sentence; or have its 
head filled with barren termt before it has acquired 
any Knowledge of the thingi which they signify. 

Such are some of the peculiarities, as we un- 
derstand them, of this Experimental Seminary. — 



1843 

Should ony desire lo learn farther of it, they will 
address Geo. Ripley, Esq. Principal, Wost-Rox- 
bury, Man, 

[p. 2] 
Mr. Emerson's Third Lecture. 

Mr. R. W. Emerson, on Friday evening, read bc- 
foro a moat intelligent audience his third Discourse 
upon New-England, in which he sought to namo 
some of tlio different facts in her literary and scien- 
tific character, reminding us thnt, as the heart in a 
citixen of every country, and as strength of char- 
acter can be confined to no territorial limits, the 
remarks he should mako would bo susceptihle of 
a wider application than to the people of the sec- 
tion which ha had more immediately in view. Yet 
the men of New-England do diflor in certain im- 
portant particulars from thoso of other districts ; 
and in nono more than this, their reliance upon 
expedients — upon a settled system. They contest 
the field ' by inches:' their strength is that of a 
cautious forecast, a judicious arithmetic. They 
thus accomplish groat undertakings ; they build a 
large city, but it is by an aggregate of small nets. 
When the men of the North and thoso of the South 
meet each other, face to fnce, this contrast is very 
marked; it is seen in its breadth at Washington 
where they meet each other full grown. The 
man of the South acts for the moment ; he accom- 
plishes his undertakings by personal address, by a 
vigorous blow. The man of the North lives for a 
year ; he relies upou the whole apparatus of means 
within his reach, and ho is only half himself when 
he umlet takes any thing from his personal strength. 
The results coirespond. The Southern man is 
naughty, headstrong, unscrupulous, wilful ; ho will 
have his way, and he does have it. The man of 
the North thinks the matter over and takes into 
deliberate consideration, the thousand obstacles 
in his way, and thus he arranges his behaviour. — 
The North always has the advantage at the end of 
ten years ; the South always has it to-day. 

Let us look a little at the taste of our people 
for Eloquence. This has been often remarked, 
and many things in New-England offer it oppor- 
tunities for developernent. Faneuil Hah is a 
good school; though much of the speaking there 
is slovenly and bad. The mass who listen pre- 
dominate; and if the Speaker bo dull they feel 
how uneasily and uncomfortably they are situated ; 
they find themselves pinched and elbowed, and 
they crente a tumult and drown the Speaker's 
voice so that, 'spite of entreaties, ho is forced to 
stop. Buttho chosen man rises, and every ohc is 
at his ease. Ho speaks the word that each knows, 
and on his lips they all hang. And at euch pause 
goes up their united shout, echoing his thought, 

the grandest sound in nature. Let the dull man 
riso again, and thoy are sadly crowded and uncom- 
fortnblo. 

Now England is faithfully represented by her 
eloquence. Tho Orator must bo a man of good 
sense — having an eye to facts, to scones and olijc eta 
of naturo sparingly, but to business chiefly, dealing 
not at nil in flowers and stormy appeals to passion; 
but trusting himself to the plain truth. Ho must 
carry his point against ids adversary by taking 
higher ground than ho ; he must havo the strongest 
intellect applied to business. He must havo.no 
tricks, but as ttie orations of Demosthenes were 
said to bo ' soldiers' so must tho speeches of tho 
Yankee be ' men of business.' A new field of elo- 
quence has, within the last quarter of a century, 
been opened, in the Lyceum, fast extending in every 
direction. It held its origin in New England and 
merits attention as a grand and distinct fact. It 
was started by agentleman who read a series of lit- 
erary lectures in Boston ; and as he has long since 
passed into new employments the influence he ex- 
erted belongs to the past. In the power exerted 
over the young to whom he 6poke he was almost 
comparable to Pericles of Athens. Remarkable 



21 

for the beauty of his person, with a classic stjle 
and grace, with matblo lips and a voice of most 
musical tones, though slightly nasal, the words that 
he spoke moved all tho people of Nvw England. 
With a talent for collecting facts, ho breught 
tln-m all to tho topic upon which ho spoko. He 
had a good deal of learning, and it was all availa- 
ble at the moment ; and so readily and so power- 
fully did he bring all history nnd learning to his usu, 
so remarkably appropriate were his quotations, 
and such the grace and beauty which ho threw 
over all ho touched, that learning at once took the 
highest place, and all who heard him felt the 
beauty and the dignity of tho man, nnd the coats- 
ost among them felt tho pinfoundest admiration 
for the manner, after they had discovered that the 
matter was not for them. In tho pulpit, (for then 
he likewiso preached) ho mnde amends for his dis- 
play of learning, and gave tho reins to hid most af- 
fluent fancy. Ho read from Milton and seemed to 
give as much beauty as he borrowed. His success 
was the triumph of Rhetoric. It was not even 
then contonded that he brought any new truths to 
light : but his s'yle and manner were the seciet of 
his power. There was that finish about him that 
there is in women. I!y a Series of Lectin es which 
he delivered during two winters, ho made tho be- 
ginning of what is becoming a National Instil ui ion 
The evening lecture answers all the purposes of a 
social meeting for both sexes; it gives new topics 
for conversiitiun, and by furnishing a pleading roc- 
reotion to the young, it is fast taking tho place of 
the theatre and ball-room. 

Into this Avid we see entering the greatest men 
of tho country, led by an instinct of its importance. 
This is a. new and capacious field for the cultiva- 
tion of eloquence It surely is not in the Senute 
or in Count,, where external relations alone are 
spoken of, that Eloquence mnv reach its highest 
ground ; but in Philosophy and Poetry and in lh* 
wholo wide range to which the Lecture opens tho 
way. T look upon the Lecture- Koom as lb- -run 
Church and College of the coming time, as the 
home of a richer eloquence than Faneuil Hall or 
the Capitol ever knew. Hero is all that the ora- 
tor can ask — a convertible oudience, willing to lis- 
ten to reason and love. There is no topic which 
may not here be treated. Every thing is here ad- 
missible — Philosophy, Poetry, Wit, Satire, Ven- 
triloquism almost; all personul and locul topics — 
mav he permitted, and embodied in a single speech. 
Every note may here be heard, from the explosion 
of a cannon to tho tinkle of a guitar. The field is 
unlimited, and it will sojn draw the best powers 
of the country into it. 

It makes the chairs of Professors dull and life- 
less : there nre no arrows there, no axes, no lovinr, 
no enchantment. All is laid out according to a 
system ; but here it is not so. All is bounJIess 
and without limitation. Tho American orator 
may here lay himself out wholly, free, unsliackled, 
large, enormous. I know not why this may not 

have all the capabilities of music; and as each 
nation has its favorite instrument, as the Spaniard 
has his guitar, the Scat his pihioch, the Italian 
his viol, and the men of the fast their cymbals 
and gong, so shall the reasoning, fact-loving, 
moral American find his in this new field open to 
discussion and debate. The country will so give 
hospitality and a hearing to men of thought, and 
here shall the man ->f new ideas, the lover of 
beauty, find a ready <>ar into which he may pour 
the secrets his Muse has whispered in his walks. 
But if from hence is to spring the hellebore that 
shall cure our insanity, it is net yet a feature of 
l lie times. The to<i obvious tendency of the popu- 
lar mind is w rely upon means which the under- 
standing h«s framed for the guidance of man, not 
upon tho simplest olliirt of roan himself. There is 
a relian'O upon the cannon nnd not upon the heart 
of tho soldier, upon the law, not the rectitude of 
the rtlhvn, upon expedients, not principles. In 
the French Revolution it was believed that if 
Kingship woro destroyed there would ho no more 
Poverty. Hut Poverty nntl Wantstillstnnd as strong 
and tenible as before. So we aro putting faith in 



1843 

Democracy, in Universal Suffrage, in the Will of a 
Majority. A tone time wo look to ttie discovery of I he 
Credit System as tho fountain of Hope The value 
of our farms rises, nnd every thing rises with it. 
But soon adversity buries us all beneath the ruin. 
Cracks begin lo ho felt in the walls within whish 
we huve dwelt so pleasantly, and soon the whole 
fulls headlong to tho Kurlb. Then others, just at 
wisely, would destroy It and trast lo bullioa and 

specie, as if these weio not also means like tho 
oilier. Never in these are we. to look (or salva- 
tion, but only in life itself. Again, all ure resting 
in the discovery of new arts, in improvements in 
stenm, in inventions of all descriptions, in Photo- 
genic ejrawings, in India rubber cloth*, in 
lamps which mukn no shadow, and stoves which 
burn no furl, in clocks which aro wound up by 
the tides, in swifter steamboats, in life-preserv- 
ers, and diving-hells. We look wiih impatirnce 
for some improved mode of conveyance ; we 
are impatient of the slow rate Rt which wo 
travel. Twenty-fivo miles an hour has come to bo 
creeping. Men must be conducted by some gal- 
vanic process; they must in some way compete 
with lightning. Large quills must be invented 
through which they may be propelled over tho 
oceun; or they will cross by submarine syphons. 
Tunnels must he made beneath tho sea, that they 
may go dry shod; and to avoid submarine volca- 
noes, ' strenuous measures ' must bo adopted. It 
is reckoned disgraceful that eai tliquukes should bo 
allowed to explode, and destroy life and injure the 
Customs Wo must have on Artesian well con- 
structed, some five hundred miles wide at it* 
mouth n-id three thousand deep, that ihus the mc- 
pliitic vapors may have qilict vent, and be turned 
to some account by the Gas Compar.ii s 

This is only a specimen of our wajs of thinking 
nnd acting. Our hurry and impaiierce lead us to 
seek short icays in science, and in religion. Tho 
race of Scholars, of profound, patient thinkers, 
will soon end. The people are becoming insatia- 
ble readers of newspapers — acres of which they 
yearly peruse. The devotion of our people to 
Phrenology is a curious fact. I cannot attribute it 
wholly to tho disceivability of our people ; but tho 
system was in its origin a good and noble one. — 
Had it confined itself to an accumulation 
of facts, it would have been a good hint.— 
But now its speedy ascent to the place of 
science is only a symptom of the times. — 
It seems as if Phrenology was specially cre- 
ated for the American people, with its 
rash classifications and shallow pretensions. It 
pretends to huve removed all mystery and to have 
laid open the whole soul to the fingers. Genius it 
finds to be an inflammation of the brsin and con- 
science an irritability of the liver! Yet Phrenolo- 
gy is mfldest in its pretensions compared wi<h 
Mesmerism. Ignorant of the processes of nature 
and of spirit they seek by a new power to raise 
man to another slate. The most perverse and stu- 
pid man onco put asleep shall be un angel and make 

himself the Paul Pry of the universe. And thus 
men seek to outwit nature ! With unwashed hands- 
and impure hearts tkey thu9 hopo to find hor se- 
crets! Like vEsop's dog they forever grasp at the 
shadow of their bone. Magicians and Somnam- 
bulists, they profess to see with their elbows, and 
to enter heaven nnd hell, and dodge the laws and 
facts, the graces and tho virtues, i.nd seek te. grasp 
tho powrrs of life by their fool's tricks ! Tho god» 
must I a 1 1 - h heartily nt nil this ! That there may be 
oveiflowings of nature, some strange occurences 
to give ground for all these things, is most likely ; 
but when they thus make theso the laws of nature^ 
th-"y show their want of sense. By the Lake Win-> 
nepiscoge a man who has lo-tt his feet, has learned to 
walk upon his thumbs ; all New Hampshire, there- 
fore, walks upon its thumbs and it would require a 
man of genius to prove to them that their feet were 
made to walk with. 

All these facts indicate disease. These things 
are pursued on low principles; they ojx-n the door 
to all the old stoiies of traveling cloaks and iuvisi- 
ble caps, and satisfy men with the senses. But as- 



1843 

no man ever got a cent's worth without paying for 
it in some form, the cent, go all these prodigious- 
promises end in very small and smoky perform- 
ances. They are only sjmptoms of disease. The- 
Repose of a Man i» not in New-England, nor in 
America. The whole people are di scon tented with 
the tardy growth which satit-fies other nations; 
they must rush on at once or they aie disquieted. 
Books ore changing into newspapers. Our re- 
fnnoiers, instead of being the strong, loving, attach- 
ing men lhat they should be, ore mere empty talk- 
ers Wo have no George Washington, no Duke of 
Wellington, no Milton and no Bent ley; but Mu- 
rals and Wallers, a slight and ephemeral ihco. 

When we read any grent Auihor, ns I'lnio, tr 
ihe productions of the great minds of Klizuheth'if 
time, wo are astonished at their massive strength 
und at the deep, strong curient <if life that is in 
them. But our pooplo aro slight and variable. 
They are ensily elaied, and thoreforo hs easily lic- 
pressrd. They follow surer**, nut skill, und thus 
ofientimes young men at tinny, heeauxi thoy have 
not succeeded, lose nllheart and despair. I Ins tear 
of failure has been noticed us characteristic of us. 
[l is not percoivrd that wo can never hnvo heioeg 
until we learn that it is impossible to fail, since 
fuilure is the only ground of success. A man's suc- 
cess is in fact made up of failures. In horseman- 
ship, not the man who never falls, is the best rider, 
but he who rides to the goal — no matter how many 
falls he gels. His business is to rirfe.not to Teinain 
firm. So iho more failures a true man has the 
faster will he get on. It is evident that this terror of 
failure, this continual asking leave Co live, springs 
from our looking upon the opinion of oilier* as the 
measue of character, whereas all depends upon 
ourselves. The noble Phocion said that he w«» 
nfraid of applause; for the true mxn fi-els that ho 
has another office than to tickle and to filter: ho 
has to bite and slab, to strike faUehood and bring 
down enncet and pride. 

Histoiy is full of tribute* to the asrendency of 
personal qualities. H« is the I ero who conquers) 
alone. Cu?sar, »ken taken by Corsairs, told them 
stories, and assumed the bearing of their masier, 
and threatened to crucify them if ihey harmed him 1 
and so he became their ruler and the luler «<f tho 
world. Men of strong will constitute the centre 
of society, and this virtue does the wurk of the> 
world. 

These remark* have some value as counteracting 
the tendency to commercial feeling in thi* country, 
to the excessive socialism of the people. It is bu. 
a gloomy picture that we offer to other nations ; 
and a most intelligent and observing foreigner says 
that in no other country has he ever seen s« little 
true independence of opinion and freedom pf dis- 
cus. ion as in America. The ruling power hero 
must not be made light of; it becomes indignant 
«t a sarcastic joke, if there be in it any ground of 
nuih. You must always exalt it ; from high and 
lew it demaods encomium. Many among us feel 
the force nf this, and accordingly, when foreigners 
Come among us, they pour secrets concerning it 

into their ears which they would not speak to their 
fellow citizens. 

Is not this tragic so far as it is true? That a 
country which offers a home to the nations should 
itself be a nation of dwarfs ! that among so many 
democrats there should be never a man! that 
where liberty rules there should be tuck a despica- 
ble, skipping expediency, such a base, ducking 
servicu to the public opinion. Foreigner* think 
that the only remedy for all this must be found in- 
the infliianco of a class of gentlemen, a rla-s not 
yet furrwd. T<j many the term expresses merely 
i lie outaide of men ; a gnce in manner or address. . 
But it reaches farther down than this; it makes 
h.inor only another name for sanclity and its high- 
est glory i* trust in God. Our people must learn 
the buauty and lienor of persistency. They must 
be revived from tho margin of tho-o holy wella 
from which our fathers drew life and enthusiasm, 
the fouutaia of the moral sentiments. 



22 

Wo huvo sought to give above merely a sketrli 
which might indicate tho viin of thought which 
marked this Lecture, which wo* received with 
deep admiration by lUe audience. The next in tho 
oourse will bo rend on Monday evening. It* sub- 
ject is thu Recent Spiritual movements in New- 
England. 



1843 

N.Y. Wee kly Tribune, 
2-25-43, p. 2. 










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N.Y. Weekly Tribune. 
3-11-43, p. 1 

Mr. Emerson's last Lreture. 

The closing Lecture of the Course before tke 
Mercantile Library Association was delivered en 
Tuesday evening by R. W. Emxrion, upon " Poli- 
tics." He made some remaiks first concerning 
the character of Law a* it now exists the views 
of a State which are generally enter: lined, and 
then spoke of Politics as they would be if men 
were what they should be instead of what •' y 
are. The protection of Persons and that of Pro- 
perty he mentioned as evidently the objects of 
government as it aow exist*. With regatd to the 
first, it is easily seen that all men have equal rights ; 
with respect to the last, their rights are aa clearly 
unequal. The first therefore demands a democra- 
cy, where all persons may have equal power; tho 
last as clearly requires that the power shall bo dis- 
tributed according to tho property. This principle 
it is found difficult to embody in practice, since 
person* and property aie mingled; as a shift 
therefore it has been deemed expedient that the 
man who has property shall have more elective 
rights than others. This principle, however, is 
beginning to bo distrusted ; the belief Is becoming 
prevalent that the culture of men is the true aim 
of a State and that property will protect and regu- 
late Itself. 



Thoughtful minds, Mr, Emerson said, find the 
most satisfactory reliance In the natural guards 
of property— which will, under any circumstances, 
be protected. The farmer will not plant unless- 
the chances are a hundred to one that he can like- 
wise harvest; all persons and all property have a 
power of their own, just as truly as all matter 
has attraction ; and it will just as surely be felt 
in all the arrangements of Society. Laws may 
do or ssy what tbey will ; money will still have 
power: and though the State should enact that 
men who have property shall not vote, still the 
property of that State will write all needed statutes 
for its own protection. 

Mr. Emerson said he thought very modestly of 
all our existing political institutions, and still 
more modestly of the manner in which they are or 
have Ueen administered. The State is always en- 
tirely dependent for its character upon the condi- 
tion of those who live in it : it is always the best 
which the existing morals of the people will allow. 
It is thus conditional, and has nothing in it of ab- 
solute worth. Good men, he said, must not obey 
the laws too well. They will have faith in the 
beautiful necessity which shines through all laws; 
in lhat human nature which writes itself as truly 
in all statutes as it does in statues or in songs. 
Government is thus always a Theocracy. The 
idea at which all aim is to obey the Will of the 
Wise Man; and since the Wise Man is not to be 
found in Nature, men seek to reach as nearly to 



1843 

it as thuy may by contrivances, tuoti at Democra- 
cies, Republics, Aristocracies or Monarchies — 
These are all form* through which shines one 
a i m — namely, the effort to obey the beat will. The 
growth of ihe individual should be the purpose of 
the Statu; to educate the Wise Man tho State 
exists ; and when he appears the State will expirv, 
fur the power of hia character will aupply the 
place of Law. 

The influence of character as a ruling power as 
yet is in its infancy ; yet it is never absolutely 
nothing. And all the strife and struggle tor opin- 
ion and for wealth indicate the feeling that the 
power of character is the only rightful force. — 
These are nought as an apology fur the lack of 
that: as shows whereby to cheat those we meet. 
But they will never satisfy ourselves ; and it ii 
only because we feel that we have not mora] worth 
that we would ever strive for rank or great pos- 
sessions. If a man had the pewer to make all 
areuud romantic and beautiful he would never 
reach afier aught so remote and poor as politics. 

Mr. Emerson said that the progress of nations 
for the last years has been towards the recognition 
of the power of individual character: towards the 
perception that no code is so efficient, none so safe, 
as the code of each man's constitution ; and the 
day, he said, would come when the government 
will cease to be sought after by gentlemen, since 
all its functions will be despatched by a few clerks. 
Ono Indication of the tendency towards thia he 
found in the more general recognitioa of the highest 
rights of maa — not alone his right to be protected 
In his person and his property, but his right te be 
loved, to be trusted, to be revered. The pewer of 
love as the basis of a State has never boon tried, 
as It will be la tho tlmo to come. But no foar 
uoed be felt that cuiifusien will ensue ; far it is a 
law of nature that there will always »-e a govern- 
ment of force while men are seliih. Trade la an 
advance on war; and a republic Is better ihan a 
monarchy; but compared with tke highest rights 
of the citizen all our political institutions arc poor 
and degrading. 

Men are beginning to perceive that the dilute 
of force ii the education of the people to do 
without it. The feeling that deems tho vices of 
men organic is a falsehood of our own hearts. 
Trust men and they will bo tree ; love them and 
we may do with them what we will. If the belief 
pf good men in the progress of Society and the race 
be true, then will the religion of the next century 
bo the recognition of this holy influence of individ- 
ual character, which sholl one day govern the 
world. Then will no man aspire to any office he 
has net served up to, nor reach at aught which 
does not gravitate to him. The machinery of force 
and compulsion upon which wo now rely will then 
eb left behind as the hobbies and go-carts of our 
yeuth. 

These were some of the principal points, en- 
forced with all the beauty and eloquence of his 
thought and style, which Mr. Emerson advanced 
in his last lecture in this city this season. His 
audience has increased at each successive evening 
during the entire series; his lectures have been 
heard with the deepest attention and evident de- 
light, and we are stiro that ho leaves behind a 
wider circle of admiring friends than he found 
when be commenced his course. 

N.Y. Weekly Tribune. 
4-15-43. 



23 



REVIEW. 

THK DIAL, No. XII. April t, IHI3. notion : E. I>. IVa- 
boilj-. New- York . C. fe. Francis 8t Co. 

The new number of The Dial opens with a 
long anil deeply appreciating article on tho Wri- 
tings of A. Bronsom Ai.cott, by his l>oeom friend 
-Ciiarlks Lane, a philanthropic and truthful, hut 
in the world's eye (and ours) visionary man, who 
recently abandoned his native England that he 
might hreatho freer and livo more ho]>cfully in 
our unshackled nnd usually, when unsympathis- 
ing, indifferent and Uiub tolerant America. Wo 
havo not room for any synopsis of this earnest and 
forciblo defence of Mr. Alcott'B aims and methods 
as a teacher ; but wo must moke ono noblo ex- 
tract from Mr. Lane's introductory rebuke to the 
popular levity and buffoonery displayed in can- 
caturing and ridiculing Mr. Alcott because somo 
■of his sentences arc not as perspicuous as nursery 
rhymes to those wholly unacquainted with his 
manner and subjects. Mr. Lane justly says : 

' All the sayings of Genius arc oracular; all 
tho actions of Originality arc inspired. The des- 
tiny of the genuinely inspired soul is nlways to 
be doubted, or despised, or persecuted in its own 
day and nation. Not bom for years or localities 
only, but for all times and places, it must await as 
wide a welcome. We sco that this skepticism, 
or unfriendliness, is necessarily manifested by the 
Tery law of originality itself; and just in a do- 
grec coequal to the extent or depth of the origin- 
ality. The greatest, the divineBt genius is perse- 
cuted to death, even unto ignominious death ; a 
moderate degree of inspiration is merely hunted 
through the world ; a lighter share of originality 
is allowed to waste itself in neglected poverty and 
Boul-chiiling solitude. For it is not, we surmise, 
always true that the measure of the world's ac- 
ceptance of genius is the index to the profundity 
of that generic love. Had it been so, the world 
cro now would have been in a more loveful posi. 
tion than self-confessedly it is. Loveful utteran- 
ces in tho deepest tone, loveful actions in the gen- 
tlest manner, have been spoken and enacted in 
,thc world's theatre, and the records of them still 
remain, kindly appealing to humanity for a re- 
eponse. Yet it comes not. Or, at the utmost, as 
in tho mimic theatre, the spectators vehemently 
applaud each virtuous representation as it passes 
before their eyes, but as instantly forget it. Influ- 
ences pass over humanity as the wind over the 
young trcos; but tho evanescent air is not tho 
abiding sap. Manifestations of genius havo not 
generally induced men to seek a closer union with 
the genetic power. Wo lack even imitntivo 
amendment. 

' Scarcely, therefore, can it be granted that the 
want of success, which so frequently character- 
izes the career of genius, is attributable either to 
any deficiency of love or wunt of exponential 
ability on its side. Something — nay, much— ac. 
prndH on the construction of the receptive vessel. 
The finest wine must be inevitably spilt, if poured 
upon a solid marble sphere ; not even nectar itself 
could be retained in a sieve ; and let us recollect 
that genius is ever too ready to pour forth its of- 
ferings, to consider critically the state or nature 
of the receiving mind. The mind supposed to be 
recipient will be found not seldom to be repcllant, 
and even when frankly disposed to receive, often 
finds the task too difficult at once to comprehend 
that which emanates from the progressed being. 
The sun steadily shines on, though by its beams 
the swamp exhales miasma as the peach dclicious- 
\j ripens.' 

. ' Canova ' is the theme of the next article, (a 
translation,) consisting mainly of remarkable say- 
ings of the great sculptor, while conversing with 
a sympathizing friend, Missiririi. Canova here 
appears as a man of strong, manly, penetrating 



1843 

sense, deep admiration for »nd inflexible devotion 
to his art, hut not a genius His observations 
have great practical valuo foi artists, but less for 
tho mass of men. The following excerpt wc 
would earnestly press upon the attention of our 
own aspiring youth, and commend its moral to 
tho masters of our Colleges, Medical Schools, 
Law and Theological Seminaries : 

• Even because Canova had so at heart tho in 
tcrcsts of tho arts, it gfioved him to eco such a 
multitude of young men devoting themaerves to 
thia aorvico ; for, lie said, they connot, for tho 
most part, fail to be poor and unhappy. Italy 
and tho world arc filled to satiety with works of 
art, and what employment enn all these disciples 
find ?— But the worst is that they will foster 
brute mediorritv ; for excellence was never the 
portion of many, nnd through excellence alone 
can any good be effected. The academics should 
accept all to try the capacity of each, but when 
they have ascertained that a pupil has no extraor- 
dinary power for art, then dismiss him, that he 
may, as a citizen, apply himself to some useful 
calling; for I fear that this multitude who arc not 
fit for tho upward path will drag down with them 
those who arc better, and where they have begun 
to do ill, will run into every folly ; for the arte, 
turned into tho downward direction, find no stay, 
but arc Boon precipitated into total ruin.' 

Tlic verse of this number is not surpassing, 
We rather like these lines by Thoreau : 
HAZE. 
Woof of tho sun, ethereal gauze, 
Woven of nature's richest stuffs, 
Visible heat, iiir-watcr, and dry soa, 
Last conquest of the eye ; 
Toil of the day displayed, sun-dust, 
Aerial surf upon tho shores of earth, 
Ethereal CBtuary, frith of light, 
Breakers of air, billows of heat, 
Fine summer spray on inland seas ; 
Bird of tho sun, transparent-winced, 
Owlet of noon, soft-pinioned, 
From heath or stubble rising without song ; 
Establish thy serenity o'er the fields, t.' 
Possibly these, (by C. P. Clinch,) are better : 

■TO 

' Planets bear thee in their hands, 
Azure skies have folded o'er thee ; 
Thou art sung by angel bands, 
And the deep, cold, throbbing sea; 
Whispered in each sighing tree, 
In each meadow's melody. 
Where the sprites outwatch the moon, 
And the ghostly night-breeze swells, 
And the brook prolongs a tune 
Through the slumbering mcadowed della — 
There thou wcaveet unknown spells 
To the ringing fairy bells. 
In thy folded trance there hide 

Ceaseless measures of content, 
And thou art of form the bride — 

Shapely picture's element. c' 

Mr. Thoreau contributes 6ome translations from 
Anacreon, which would be excellent but for the 
attempt to render them literal — an attempt which 
destroys their value for the general reader, and 
renders them interesting to the scholar only. The 
following extract from tho translator's introduc- 
tion, however, is better conceived : 

' We know of no studies so composing as those 
of tho classical scholar. When we have sat down 
to them, life seems as still and serene as if it were 
very far off, and we believe it is not habitually 
seen from any common platform so truly and un- 
cxaggcrnted as in the light of literature. In se- 
rene hours wc contemplate tho tour of the Greek 
and Latin authors with more pleasure than the 
traveler docs the fairest scenery of Greece or Italy. 



1843 

Where shall wc find o more refined society? — 
That highway down from Homer nnd Hcsiod to 
Horace and Juvenal if* moro nttractivo than tho 
Appian. Reading tho classics, or conversing with 
those old Greeks and Latins in their surviving 
works, is liko walking nmid the stars and con- 
stcllations, a high anil by-way screno to travel. 
Indeed, tho truo scholar will he not a little of an 
astrqnomcr in his hahits. Diffracting cares will 
not bo allowed to obstruct tho field of his vision, 
for tho higher regions of literature, like astronomy, 
aro above storm and darknoss.' 

Rev. J. F. Clarke contributes a Sketch of 
George Keats, a brother of tho Poet, who died re- 
cently while in the prime of life and in the midst 
of an active business career at Louisville, Ky. 
Ho was eldest of the three brothers, a most worthy, 
intellectual^ loving and rightfully beloved man, 
greatly respected in his Western home, which he 
had chosen in early manhood, marrying at twenty- 
one a girl of sixteen, and seeking independence 
and equality on the banks of the then forest- 
shaded Ohio. His strength of character and 
kindness of heart aro fitly commemorated by Mr. 
C. preliminary to the citation of some criticisms 
on Milton by the Poet Keats, which Mr. C. was 
permitted to copy from the Western brother's copy 
of ' Paradise Lost.' These are good, but not ex- 
traordinary, and aro valuable mainly as a frag- 
mnt of the mind of Keats snatched from oblivion. 

There arc several brief articlcs,both in Prose and 
Verse, of which we have not room to speak ; and 
that on ' Europe and European Books,' by the 
Editor, is so rich that we pass it in the hope that 
we may ere long bo able to insert it entire. Tho 
Literary Notices and Foreign Literary Intelli- 
gence we must also leave untbuched for the pre- 
sent. 

— The Dial concludes with this number its 
Third Volume. For three years it has been sus- 
tained by the free-will offerings of a band of gen- 
erous spirits, at tho head of which stands its 
Editor. They hnvo labored without expectation 
of pecuniary recompense — urged onward by a 
select and scattered few, whose admiration and. 
development have been their stimulus and reward. 
Wc bclicvo this work, restricted, by tho world's 
indifference, to a narrow circle of uscfidncss, has 
yet effected vast good — that it has imparted a 
deeper earnestness to ourpcriodioal literature, and 
awukened many to a consciousness of higher ends 
p( being than they had before purRiied or recog- 
nized. Wo do hope that the commencement of a 
New Volume will be signalized by a liberal in- 
crease of its subscription ; that all independent 
and love-inspired inquirers after vital truth — all 
earnest seekers of universal good — will extend to 
it their effective support. Especially should the 
liberal offer of the publishers to furnish full sets of 
the three issued volumes for $5 in all, or odd 
numbers for 37J cents each, be eagerly responded 
to. The number of copies printed was necessa. 
rily limited; there is no thought of ateprint; and 
the time is not far hence when a library, public or 
private, dcstituto of a set of The Dial, will be 
deemed deficient in regard to one of the most 
remarkable phases of American Literature. Let 
tho proprietors of Libraries which have not yet 
secured a set of this work be careful to do so 
promptly, or they will have cause to regret their 
hesitation. [Published Quarterly, at $3 per 



Loc, cit. . 4-15-43 



24 

From the Dill for April. 

GEORGE KEATS. 
Several year* since I went to (xiuisvillc, Ky., 
to take charge of the Unitariun church in that 
city. I was told that among those who attended 
the church was a brother of the poet Keats, un 
English gentleman, who had resided for many 
years in Louisville us a merchant. His appear- 
ance, and the shape of his head arrested atten- 
tion. Tho heavy bar of observation over his eyes 
indicated the strong perceptive faculties of u bu- 
siness man, while the striking lnght of the head, 
in the region assigned by phrenology to venera. 
tion, was a sign of nobility of sentiment, and the 
full development behind marked firmness and 
practical energy. All these traits were equally 
prominent in his character. Ho was one of the most 
intellectual men I ever know. I never saw him 
when his mind wun inactive. I never knew him 
to acquiesce in the thought of another. It was a ne- 
cessity of his nature to have his own thought on ev- 
ery subject ; and when lie assented to your opinion, 
it was not acquiescence: hut agreement. Joined 
with this energy of intellect was u profound in- 
tellectual modesty. He perceived his deficiency 
in the higher reflective faculties, especially that of 
a philosophical motkxi. Bjt hit keen insight en- 
abled liim fully to upprcciute what he did not 
himself possess. Though the tendency of his in- 
tellect wus wholly criticul, it was without dogma, 
tism and full of reverence for the creative facul- 
ties. Ho was thoroughly versed in English lite, 
raturo, especially that of the Elizabethan period, 
a taste for which he had probably imbibed from 
his brother and his friends, Iiclgh Hunt and oth- 
ers. This taste he preserved for years in a region 
where scurccly unolhcr could be found who had 
so much us heard the names of his favorite au- 
thors. The society of such a man was invalua- 
ble, if only as an intellectual stimulus. It was 
strange to find, on the banks of the Ohio, one 
who had successfully devoted himself to active 
pursuits, and who yet returned so fine a sensibility 
for the rarest and most evanescent beauties of an- 
cient song. 

The intellectual man was that which you first 
saw in George Keats. It needed a long acquaint- 
ance before you could perceive, beneath the veil 
of a high-bred English reserve, that profound sen. 
timent of manly honor, that reverence for all 
Truth, Loftiness, and Purity, that ineffaceable de- 
sire for inward spiritual sympathy, which are the 
birthright of all in whose veins flows the blood 
of a true poet. George Keats was the most 
manly and self-possessed of men — yet full of in- 
ward aspiration and conscious of spiritual needs. 
There was no hardness in his strong heart, no 
dogmatism in his energetic intellect, no pride in 
his self-reliance. Thus ho was essentially a re- 
ligious man. He slirunk from pietism, but revered 

p iet y- . . 

The incidents of his life bore the mark of his 
character. His mind, stronger than circumstan- 
ccs, gave them its own stamp, instead of receiv- 
ing theirs. George Keats, with his two younger 
brothers, Thomas and John, were left orphuns at 
a privato boarding school, where the impetuosity 
of the young poet frequently brought him into 
difficulties, whero ho needed the brotherly aid of 
George. John was very apt to get into a fight 
with boys much bigger than himself.und George, 
who seldom fought on his own account, very 
often got into a battlo to protect his brother. — 
These curly udventures helped to bind their hearts 
in a very close and lasting affection. 

After leaving school, Georgo was taken into 
his guurdiun's counting. room, whero he stayed a 
little while, but left it, because lie did not chooso 
to submit to the domineering behavior of the 
younger partner. Yet he prelcrred to bear tho ac. 
cusation of boing unreasonable, rather tliun to ex- 
plain the cause which might have made difficul- 
ty. Ho lived at home, keeping house with his 



1843 
two brothers, und douig nothing for some time, 
waiting tdl he should be of uge, and should re- 
ceive ins small inheritance. Many said he was 
an idle fellow, who would never come to any 
good; but lie felt within himself a conviction 
(hat he could maki his way successfully through 
the world. His guardian, a wise old Iiondon 

merchant, chared this opinion, and always pre- 
dicted that Coorgc would turn out well. 

His lirst acton coming of ngc did not seem, to 
the worldly wise, i« favor this view. He niar- 
ricd a young lady, the daughter of a British Co. 
lonel, and cunic with her to America. They did 
not, however, act without reflection. George had 
only four or five thousand dollars, nnd knew that 
if he remained in London, he could not be mar- 
ried for years. Nor would he be able to support 
his wife in any of the. Atlantic cities, in tho so. 
cicty to which they hnd been accustomed. But 
by going at once to the West, they might live, 
without much society, to bo sure, but yet with 
comfort, nnd the prospect of improving their con- 
dition. Therefore see this l>oy and girl, he twen- 
ty-one and she sixteen, leaving home and friends, 
nnd going to be happy in each other's love, in 
the wild regions beyond the Alleghnnies. Hap- 
py is he whose first great step in life is the result 
not of outward influences, but of his own well, 
considered purpose. Such a step seems to make 
him free for the rest of his days. 

Journeys were not made in those days as they 
arc now. Mr. Keats bought a carnage and hor. 
ses in Philadelphia, with which he traveled to 
Pittsburgh, and then they descended tiie Ohio in 
a kcel-liout, sending thcii horses on by land to Cin- 
cinnati. This voyage of six hundred milis down 
the river was full of romance to these young peo- 
pic. No steamboat then disturlird, with its 
hoarse pantings, the sleep of those beautiful 
shores. - Day alter day they floated tranquilly on, 
as through a succession of fairy likes, sometimes 
in the shadow of the lofty wooden bluff, some, 
times by the side of wide-spread meadows, or be. 
neath the graceful overhanging branches of the 
cotton. wood and sycamore. Sometimes, while 
the boat floated lazily ulong, the young peoplo 
would go ashore and walk through the woods 
across a point, around which the river made a 
bend. All uncertain as their prospects were, they 
could easily, amid the luxuriance of nature, aban- 
don themselves to the enjoyment of the hour. 

Mr. Keats made a visit of some months to 
Henderson, Ky., whero ho resided in tho samo 
house witii Mr. Audubon, tho naturalist. Ho 
was still undetermined what to do. One day, ho 
was trying to chop a log, nnd Audubon, who had 
watched him for some, time, at last said — " I am 
sure you will do well in tins country, Kents. A 
man who will persist, as vou have been doing, in 
chopping that log, though it has taken you an 
hour to do what 1 could do in ten minutes, will 
certainly get ulong here." Mr. Keats said that 
he accepted the omen, and fell encouraged by it. 

After investing the greater part of his money 
in a boat, nnd losing tho whole of it, he took 
charge of u llour mill, and worked night and day 
with such untiring energy, that he soon found 
himself making progress. After a while he left 
this business and engaged in the lumber trade, by 
which in the course of some vcars he aceumu- 
lated a handsome fortune. In the course of this 
business he was obliged to make visits to the 
lumberers, which often led him into wdd scenes 
and adventures. Once, when he was taking a 
journey on horseback, to visit some friends on the 
British Prairie, he approached the Wabash in the 
altemoon, at a time when the river had overflow- 
ed its banks. Following the horse path, for there 
was no carriage road, he came to a succession of 
little lakes, which he was obliged to ford. But 
when he reached the. other side it was impossible 
to find the. pnth again, and equally difficult to re. 
gain it by rcerorsing. The path here went 



1843 

through a cane-brake, nnd the cane grew bo close 
together Uiat the track could only be distinguished 
when you were actually upon )t. What was to 
be done ? There Wns no human being for milO 
around, and no one might pass that way for 
weeks. To stop or to go on seemed equally dan- 
gerous. But at last Mr. Keats discovered the 
following expedient, the only one perhaps, that 
could have saved him. The direction of the path 
he had been traveling was east and west. He 
tumed and rode toward Iho south, until he was 
sure that he was to the South of the track. He 
then returned slowly to the North, carefully ex- 
amining the ground as he passed along, until at 
last he found himself crossing the path, which he 
took, and reached the river in safety. 

George Keats not only loved his brother John, 
but reverenced his genius, and enjoyed his poetry, 
believing liim to belong to the front rank of Eng- 
lish bards. Modem criticism seems to concur 
with this judgement. A genuine and discrimi- 
nating appreciation of his brother's poetry always 
gave him gTcat pleasure. He preserved and 
highly prized John's letters, and unpublished 
verses, the copy of Spenser filled with his works, 
which he had read when a boy, and which had 
been to him a very valuable source of poetic in- 
spiration, and a Milton in which were preserved 
in a like manner, John's marks and comments. — 
From a fly-leaf of this book, I was permitted to 
copy the passages I now send you. I know not 
whether you will agree with mo in their l>eing 
among the most striking criticisms we possess 
upon this great author. That the love of the 
brothers was mutual, appcarB from the following 
lines from one of John's poems, inscribed " To 
my brother George." 

" A* to my Bonnet*, rlimuh nonf el**' should hrrd [hem, 
] fwl (li'lighfil, Mill, that ynu .hould r-id th.'m. 
Of l.itr ii«>, 1 have li ill much calm eiijoymriit, 
Hi rt-trh'-il on the u'rass at my bf*t luvi-d ciniiloymrnt, 
Of scribbling lives to you—" 

Less than two years ago, in the prime of life 
and the midst of usefulness, George Keats passed 
into the spiritual world. The city of Louisville 
lost in him one of its most public-spirited and con- 
scientious citizens. The . Unitarian Society of 
that place lost one, who, though he had been con- 
firmed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, was too 
honest not to leave the popular and fashionable 
church for an unpopular faith, which was more of 
a home to his mind. For myBclf, I have ever felt 
that it was quite worth my while to go and live 
in Louisville, if I had gained thereby nothing but 
the knowledge and friendship of such a man.' I 
did rot sec him in his last days. I was already 
living in a distant region. But when he died, I 
felt that I had indeed lost a friend. We cannot 
hope to find many such in this world. We arc 
fortunate if we find any. Yet I could not but 
believe that he had gone to find his brother again 
among 

" Thr- apirit* and intMliffpnent fair, 

Anil annch waiting on thr Almighty"* chair." 

The love for his brother, which continued through 
Ins life to be among the deepest affections of his 
soul, was a pledge of their reunion again in tho 
spir.Uland. 

Krom The Dial' for Arjpl. 

ENGLISH NOVELS. 

Br r. w. i:MF.niow. 

NEXT'to the poetry the novels, which come to 
us in every ship from England, have an impor- 
tance increased by the immense extension of their 
circulation through the new cheap press, which 
sends them to so many willing thousands. So 
much novel reading ought not to leave the rea- 
ders quite unaffected, and undoubtedly gives 
some tinge of romance to the daily life of young 
merchants and maidens. Wo have heard it al. 
leged, with some evidence, that the prominence 
given to intellectual power in Bulwcr's romances 



25 
had proved a main stimulus to mental culture in 
thousands of young men in England and Ame- 
rica. The effect on manners cannot be less sen- 
siblc, and we can easily Micve that the. behavior 
of the ball room, and of tho hotel has not failed to 
draw some addition of dignity and grace from 
the fair ideals, with which tho imagination of a 
novelist has filled tho bends of the most imitative 
class. 

Wo are not very well v< rsed in these liooks, yet 
wc have read Mr. Bulwcr enough to see that the 
story is rapid nnd interesting; he has really seen 
hondon society, and does not draw ignorant 
caricatures. Ho is not a genius, hut his novels 
arc mnrked with grent energy, and with a courage 
of experiment which in each instance had its de- 
gree of success. The story of Zanoni was one of 
those world. fuhles which is so agreeable, to thohu. 
man imagination, that it is found in some form in 
the language of evrv country, and is always re- 
appearing in literature. Many of the details of 
this novel preserve a poetic truth. Wc read Za- 
noni with pleasure, because magic is natural. It 
is implied in all superior culture that a complete 
man would need no auxiliaries to liis personal 
presence. The eye and the word arc certainly far 
subtler and stronger weapons than cither money 
or knives. Whoever looked on the hero, would 
consent to his will, being certified that his nims 
were universal, not selfish ; and he would be 
obeyed as naturally as the rain and the sunshine 
arc. For this reason, children delight in fairy 
talcs. Nature is described in them as me servnnt 
of man, which they feci ought to be true. But 
Zanoni pains us, and the. author loses our respect, 
because he speedily bctrnys thot ho drvs not see 
the true limitations of the charm ; because the 
power with which his hero is armed, is a toy, in- 
asmuch as the power does not ff'W from Its legit. 
imatc fountains ;n the mind ; is a power for I/oo- 
don ; a divine power converted into a burglar's 
false key or a highwayman's pistol to rob and kill 
with. 

But Mr. Bulwcr's recent stories have given us, 
who <lo not read novels, occasion to think of this 
department of literature, supposed to he the natu- 
ral fruit and expression of the age. We conceive 
that the obvious division of modern romance is 
into two kinds; first, the novels of continue or 
of ctrc tmstanre, whirh is tho old style, and vastly 
the n. st numerous. In this class, the hero, 
■without any particular character, is in a very par- 
ticular circumstance ; he is greatly in want of a 
fortune orof a wife, and usually of l>oth, and the 
business of the piece is to provide hi in suitably. 
This is the problem to bo solved in thousands of 
English romances, including the Porter novels 
and tho more splendid examples of the Fdgcwurtli 
and Scott romances. 

It is curious how sleepy and lnolish we arc, 
that these talcs will so tnko us. ,\g iin and again 
wo have been caught m llmt "Id lonlish trap: — 
then, as before, to feel indignant to have been 
duped and dragged after a foolish boy nnil girl, to 
see them at last married and |M>rtioncd, and the 
reader instantly turned out of doors, like a beggar 
that has followed a gay procession into a castle. 
Had one noble thought opening the e|iaml>crs of 
the intellect, one sentiment from the heart of < iod 
been spoken by them, tho reader had been made 
a participator of their triumph ; he too had been 
an invited and eternal guest ; but the reward 
granted them is property, all.cxcluding property, 
a little cake baked for them to cat and for none 
other, nay, a preference and cosseting which is 
rude and insulting to all but tho minion. 

Excepting in the stories of Edgeworth and 
Scott, whose talent knew how to give to the book 
a thousand adventitious graces, the novels of 
costume arc all one, and ther»: is but one stand- 
ard English novel, like the one orthodox sermon, 
which with (.light variation is repeated every Sun- 
day from so many pulpits. 

But the other novel, of which Wilhelm Meistcr 



1843 

is the best specimen, the novel of character, 
treats the reader with more respect ; a castle and 
a wife are not the indispensable conclusion, but the 
development of character being the problem, the 
reader is made a partaker of the whole prosperity. 
Every thing good in such a story remains with 
the render, when the lxiok is closed. 

A noble book was Wilhch i Mcister. It gave 
the hint of a cultivated society which wc found 
nowhere else. It was founded on power to do 
what was necessary, each person finding it an in- 
dispensable qualification of membership, that he 
could do something useful, as in mechanics or ag- 
riculture or other indispensable art; then a pro- 
bity, a justice, was to be its element, symbolized 
by the insisting that each property should be 
cleared of privilege, nnd should pay its full tax to 
the Stute Then, a perception of beauty was tho 
equally indispensable, element of tho association, 
by winch each was so dignified and all were so 
dignified ; then each was to obey his genius to 
tho length of abandonment. They watched each 
candidate vigilantly, without his knowing that he 
was observed, and when he had given proof that 
he was a faithful man. then all doors, ail houses, 
all relations wore open to him ; high behavior 
fraternized with high behavior, without question 
of heraldry and tho only power recognised is the- 
force of character. 

The novels of Fashion of D'lsrai li, Mrs. Gore, 
Mr. Ward, belong to tho class of novels of cos- 
tume, because their aim is a purely external 

■UCCCM, 

Of the tales of fashionable life, by far the 
most agreeable and the most efficient, was Vivian 
Grey. Young men were and still arc the reader* 
and victims. Byron ruled tor a time, but Vivian, 

with no tithe of Byron's genius, rules longer. 
One cun distinguish nt sight the Vivians in all 
companies. They would quiz their father, and 
mother, nnd lover, onil friend. They discuss sun 
and planets, lilierty and fute, love and death, over 
the soup. They never sleep, go nowhere, stay 
nowhere, cat nothing, and know nolwdy, but are 
\ip to any thing, though it were the <.cne«is of 
nature, or the Inst Cataelnsm, — Festus-like, Faust- 
hlie, Jove.-1'ikc ; nnd could write an Iliad any 
rainy morning, if fame wrc not such a bore. 
Men, women, though the greatest and fairest, are 
stupid things; but a rifle, and a mild pleasant 
gunpowder, a spaniel, and n cheroot, arc themes 
far Olympus. I fear it was in part the influence 
of such pirtures on living society, which made 
the style of manners, of which we have so many 
pictures, as, for example, in the following account 
of the English fashionist. " His highest triumph 
is to appear with the most wooden manners, as 
little polished as will suffice to avoid eastigation, 
nay, to inntrivc even Ins civilities, so that they 
rimy nppe-ir as near as mny lie to affronts ; instead 
of a noble high .bred case, to have the courage 
to offend against every restraint of decorum, to 
invert the relation in whjch our sex 6tand to 
women, so that they appear the attacking, and he 
the passive or defensive party." 



From 'Th* Dial ' f.,r April. 

WORDSWORTH AND TENNYSON. 

BT JllPli "li.l'i I Ml Bin' 

It was a brighter day than we have often known 
in our literary calendar, when within the twelve- 
month n 6inglo Linden advertisement announced 
a new volume of Bocms by Wordsworth, Poems by 
Tennyson, and a Play by Henry Taylor. Words. 
worth's naturo or character has had all the time it 
needfd, in order to make its mark, nnd supply tho 
want of talent. Wc have learned how to read him. 
Wo have cea«-d to expect that which he cannot 
jjivc. He has the ment of just moral perception, 
but not that of deft poetic execution. How would 
Milton curl his lip at such slipshod newspaper 
stylo ! Muiiy of his poems, — us for examplo, tho 
itylstonc Doc, might be all improvised. Nothing 



1843 

of Milton, nothing of Marvcll, of Herbert, of Dry. 
den, could be. These arc- such verses as in a just 
Etato of culture, should bo vers de Soeiete, such as 
every gentleman could write, but nono would think 
of printing or of claiming the poet's laurel on their 
merit. TJio Pindar, tho Shakspearc, the Dante, 
while they have the just and open 60ul, have ulso 
the cyo to see tho dimmest 6tur that glimmers in 
the Milky Way, tho scrratures of every leaf, tho 
test objects of the microscope, and then tho tongue 
to utter the same tilings in words that engrave 
them on all the ears of mankind. The poet de. 
mantis all gifts, and not one or two only. 

The poet, like the electric rod, must reach from 
a point nearer to the sky than all surrounding ob- 
jects down to the earth, and into the dark, wet 
eoil, or neither is of use. The poet must not 
only converse with pure thought, but he must 
demonstrate it almost to the senses. His words 
must be pictures, his verses must be spheres and 
cubes, to be 6een, and smellcd, and handled. His 
fable must be a good story, and its meaning must 
hold as pure truth. In the debates on the Copy- 
right Hill, in the English Parliament, Mr. Sergeant 
Wakcly, the Coroner, quoted Wordsworth's poetry 
in derision, and asked tho roaring House of Com- 
mons what that meant, and whether a man should 
have a public reward for writing such stuff. Ho- 
mer, Horace, Milton and Chaucer would defy tho 
Coroner. Whilo they have wisdom t6 tho wise, 
ho would sco, that to the external, they have ex- 
tomal meaning. Colcridgo excellently said of 
poetry, that poetry must first be good sense, as a 
palaco might well be magnificent, but first it must 
be a house. 

Wordsworth is open to ridicule of this kind. 
And yet Wordsworth, though satisfied if he can 
suggest to a sympathetic mind his own mood, 
and though setting a private and exaggerated 
value on his compositions, though confounding 
his accidental with the universal consciousness, 
and taking the public to task for not admiring 
his ]>octry, — is really a superior master of the 
English language, and his poems evince a power 
of diction that is no more rivaled by his contem- 
poraries, than is his poetic insight. But the capi- 
tal merit of Wordsworth is, that he has done moro 
for the sanity of this generation than any other 
writer. Early in life, at a crisis, it is said, in his 
private affairs, he made Ilia election between as- 
Burning and defending some legal rights with the 
chances of wealth and a position in the world — 
and the inward promptings of his heavenly genius ; 
he took his part ; he accepted the call to be a poet, 
and sat down, far from cities, with coarse clothing 
and plain fare to obey the heavenly vision. The 
choice he had fhade lh his will, manifested itself 
in every line to be real. We have poets who 
write the poetry of society, of the patrician and 
conventional Europe, as Scott and Moore, and 
others who, like Byron or Bulwcr, write the poetry 
of vice and disease. But Wordsworth threw him- 
self into his place, made no reserves or (stipulations; 
man and writer were not to be divided. He sat at 
the foot of Helvellyn and on the margin of Winan- 
dermere, und took their lustrous mornings and their 
sublime midnights for his theme, and not Marlow, 
nor Ma6;singer, nor Horace, nor Milton, nor Dante. 
He once for all forsook the styles, and standards, 
and modes of thinking of London and Paris, and 
the books read there, and the aims pursued, and 
wrote Helvellyn and Winandermcrc and the dim 
■ pints which these haunlB harbored. There was 
not the least attempt to reconcile these with the 
spirit of fashion and selfishness, nor to show with 
great deference to the superior judgement of Dukes 
and Earls, that although London was tho home for 
men of great parts, yet Westmoreland had these 
consolations for such as Fate hud condomned to 
the country life ; but with a complete satisfaction, 
he pitied and rebuked their false lives, and cole- 
bratcd his own with tho religion of a true priest. 
Hence the antagonism which was immediately 
felt between his poetry und the spirit of tho age, 
that here not only criticism, but conscience und 



26 

will were parties ; the spirit of literature, and the 
modes of living, and the conventional theories of 
the conduct of life were called in question on 
wholly new grounds, — not from Platonism, nor 
from Christianity, but from the lessons which the 
country muse taught a stout pedestrian climbing 
a mountain, and in following a river from iIh 
parent rill down to the sea. The. Cunnings and 
Jeffreys of tho Capitul, the Court Journals und 
Literary Gazettes were not well pleased, anil voted 
tho poet u bore. But that which rose in him so 
high us to the lips, roso in many others us high 
as to the heart. What ho said, they were pre- 
pared to hear and confirm. The influence was 
in tho air, and was wafted up and down into lone 
and into populous places, resisting the popular 
taste, modifying opinions which it did not change, 
and soon came to lie felt in poetry, in criticism, in 
plans of life, and at last in legislation. In this 
country, it very early found a strong hold, and its 
effect may be traced on all the poetry both of Eng- 
land and America. 

But notwithstanding all Wordsworth's grand 
merits, it was a great pleasure to know that Al- 
fred Tennyson's two volumes were coming out in 
the same ship ; it was a great pleasure to receive 
them. The elegance, the wit und subtlety of this 
writer, his rich fancy, his power of language, his 
metrical skiir, his independence on any living mas- 
ters, his peculiar topics, his taste for the costly and 
gorgeous, discriminate the musky poet of gardens 
and conservatories of parks and palaces. Perhaps 
we felt the popular objection that he wants rude 
truth, he is too fine. In these boudoirs of damask 
and alabaster, one is farther off from stern nature 
and human. life than in ' Lalla Rookh ' and ' The 
Loves of the Angels.' Amid swinging censers and 
perfumed lamps, amidst velvet and glory we long 
for rain and frost. Otto of roses is good, but wild 
air is better. A critical friend of ours affirms that 
the vice, which bereaved modern painters of tlieir 
power, is the ambition to begin where their fathers 
ended; to equal the musters in their exquisite 
finish, instead of in their religious purpose. The 
paintcrH arc not willing to paint ill enough : they 
wilt not puint for tlieir times, ugitutcd by the spirit 
which agitates their country : so should their pic- 
tures picture us and draw all men alter them ; but 
they copy the technics of their predecessors, und 
paint for tlieir predecessors' public. It seems us 
if the same vitc had worked in j>octry. Tenny- 
son's compositions arc not so much poems us 
studii- i in poetry, or sketches after tho styles of 
sundry old masters. He is not the, husband who 
builds the homestead after his own necessity, from 
foundation-stone to ehimney-top und turret, but u 
tasteful bachelor, who ccAlccts quaint btair-cuscs 
and groined ceilings. We have no right to such 
supcrfincness. We must not n.akc our bread of 
pure sugar. These delicacies ahd splendors arc 
then legitimate, when they are the excess of sub. 
stantial and necessary expenditure. The best 
songs in English poetry ure by that heavy, hard, 
pedantic poet, Ben Johnson. Johnson is rude, 
and only on rare occasions gay. Tennyson is 
always fine ; but Johnson's beauty is more grate- 
ful than Tennyson's. It is a natural, manly grace 
of a robust workman. Hen's flowers are not in 
pots, at a city florist's, ranged on a flower-stand, 
but he is a countryman at a harvest. home, attend. 
ing his ox-cart from the fields, loaded with pota- 
toes and apples, with grapes and plums, with nuts 
and berries, and stuck with boughs of hemlock 
and 6wcet briar, with fems and pond-lilies which 
the children have gathered. But let us not quar- 
rel with our benefactors. Perhaps Tennyson is 
too quaint and elegant. What then 7 It is long 
since we have had as good a lyrist ; it will bo long 
before wo have his superior. ' Godiva' is a no- 
ble poem that will tell the legend a thousand 
years. Tho poem of all tho poetry of the present 
age, for which wo predict tho longest term, is 
' Aboun ben Adhem ' of Leigh Hunt. Fortune 
will still have her part in every victory, and it is 
strange that one of tho best poems should be 
written by a man who has hardly written any 



1843 

other. And ' Godivu ' is a parable which belongs 
to the sumo gospel. ' I^ckslcy Hall' and ' The 
Two Voices ' uro meditative ]>ocins, which were 
slowly written to bo slowly read. 'The Talking 
Oak,' though a little hurt by its wit and ingc. 
unity, 13 beautiful, and the most poetic of the 
volume. 'Ulysses' belongs to a high class of 
poetry, destined t" bo the highest, and to be more 
cultivated in the next generation. ' CEnonc ' was 
a sketch of tho same kind. One of the best 
specimens wo have of the class is Wordsworth's 
' Luodamia,' of which no special merit it con 
possess equals the total merit of having selected 
such a biibjcct in such a spirit. 



N.Y. J£eekl£j!^y>3S.e, 
4-15-43. 

I^lfe Ut Sonlli I nrdllon. 

The following letter from the Evening Post is 
'undoubtedly written by its Editor, Mr. W. C. 
Brvant, who has been for sonicwcoks past travel- 
ing at the South ; 

rj»» vwkli. Dm r rue r. \, 
Soeni r turn !•«., Mir. ii l"), urn. S 

Since I Inst wrote, 1 have passed three wcoi.s 
in the interior of South Carolina; visited Cohiiu- 
bia, the capital of Ihe State — a pretty town; 
roamed over a considerable part of Barnwell Dis- 
trict, with some, part of the neighboring one of 
Orungi burg; enjoyed the hospitality of the jilunt- 
ers — very agreeable and intelbgentmen ; been out 
in a racoon hunt ; been present ut a corn shuck- 
ing; listened to negro ballads, negro jokes, and 
the banjo ; witnessed negro dances ; seen two alii- 
gators at least, and eaten bushels of hominy. 

Whoever comes out on the railroad to this dis- 
trict, a distance of seventy miles or more, if he 
were to judge only by what ho sees ;n his passage, 
might naturally take South ( -arolina for a vast 
pine fbrcst, with here and there a clearing made 
by some enterprising settler, and would wonder 
where, the cotton which clothes so many millions 
of the human race, is produced. The- railroad 
keep* on a track of sterile sand, overgrown with 
pines ; passing, here and there, along the edge of 
a morass, or crossing a stream of yellow water. — 
A lonely log house under these old trees, is a sight 
for sore eyes ; and only two or three plantations, 
properly so called, meet the eye in the whole dis- 
tance The cultivated and more productive lands 
lie apart, from this tract, near streams, and inter- 
spersed with more frequent ponds and marshes. — . 
Here you find plantations comprising several 
thousands of acres, n considerable part sf which 
always lies in forest; cotton and com fields of 
vastoxtcnt, und a negro village on every planta- 
tion, at a respectful distance from the habitation 
of the proprietor. Evergreen trees of the oak fam- 
ily and others, which I mentioned in my last let- 
ter, arc generally planted about the mansions. — 
Some of them are surrounded. with dreary clear- 
ings, full of the standing trunks of dead pines; 
others are phasantlv situated in the edge of woods, 
intersi cted by winding paths. A ramble, or a 

ride — a ride on a hand gallop it should b(! in 

these pine woods, on a fine March day, when the 
weather has all the spirit of our March days with. 
out their severity, is one of the most delightful re- 
creations in the world. The paths arc upon a white 
sand, which, when not frequently traveled, is very 
firm under foot; on all sides you arc surrounded 
by nobh' stems of trees, towering to an immense 
hiirht, from whose summits, far above you, the 
wind is drawing deep and grund harmonies; and 
often your way is beside a marsh, verdant with 
magnolias, v ith the yellow jessamine, now in 
flower, and filling the air with fragrance ; the 
bambon-hriar, an evergreen creeper, and various 
other plants, which never shed their leaves in win. 
tcr. These woods abound in game, which, you 
will believe me when I say, 1 had rather start 
ftan shoot, — flocks of turtle doves, rabbits rising 



1843 

and scudding before you ; little flocks of quails, 
partridges they call them here, chirping almost 
under your horse's feet ; wild ducks swimming 
in the pools, and wild turkeys, which are fre- 
quently 6hot by the practised sportsman. 

But you must hear of the com shucking. The 
one at which I was present was given on purpose, 
that I might witness the humors of the Carolina 
negroes. A huge fire of light-wood was made 
near the corn house. Light-wood is the wood of 
the long-leaved pine, and is so called, not because 
it is light, for it is almost the heaviest wood in the 
world, but because it gives more light than any 
Other fuel. In clearing land the pines arc girdled 
and suffered to stand ; the outer portion of the 
wood decays and falls off"; tho inner port, which 
is saturated with turpentine, remains upright for 
years, and constitutes the planter's provision of 
fuel. When a supply is wanted, one of these dead 
trunks is felled by the axe. Tho abundance of 
lightwood is one of the boasts of , South Carolina. 
Wherever you arc, if you happen" to be chilly, you 
may have afire extemporo ; a bit of light-wood 
and a coal give you a bright blazo and a strong 
heat in an instant. Tho negroes make fires 
of it in the fields where they work ; and when the 
mornings are wet and chilly, in the pens where 
they arc milking the cows. At a plantation, 
where I passed a frosty night, I saw fires in a 
■mall inclosurc, and was told by the lady of the 
house that she had ordered them to be made to 
,/warm the cattle. 

The light- wood fire was made, and the negroes 
dropped in from the neighboring plantations, sing- 
ing as they came. The driver of the plantation, a 
colored man, brought out baskets of corn in the 
husk, and piled it in a heap ; and tho negroes be- 
gan to strip the husks from the cars, singing with 
groc" glco as they worked, keeping time to the 
music, and now and then throwing in' a joke and 
an extravagant burst of laughter. The songs 
were generally of a comic character ; but one of 
them was set to a singularly wild and plaintive 
air, which lomo of our musicians would do well 
to reduce to notation. These arc the words i 

Johnny como down He hollow. 

OI> hollow! 
Johnny come down .!<■ hollow. 

Oh hollow • 
Deaiggfr-trtiler Kot mn. 

Oh Loll,, w ! 
J 'm told foi iilvrr ih« ira. 

OLlMlhiw ! 
Boyi, go aud catch il, |,ony. 

Oh hollow ! 
Bong him round ile corner. 

Oh hollow 1 
I 'm goin' away to Georgia. 

Oh hollow ! 
Boyi , good bye forever ! 

Oh hollow ! 

The song of ' Jenny gone away' waB also given, 
and another called the monkey song, probahly of 
African origin, in which the principal singer per. 
donated a monkey, with all sorts of odd gesticula. 
tions, and the other negroes bore part in the chorus, 
" Dan, dan, who's de dandy ?" One of the songs 
commonly sung on theBe occasions, represents the 
various animals of the woods, as belonging to 
some profession or trade. For example — 
De cooler if de boatman — 

The cooter is the terraoin. and a very expert boat- 
man he ia. 

De cooter ii de boatman. 

John John Crow. 
De red-bird de soger. 

John John Crow. 
De mocking-bird de lawyer. 

John John Crow. 
De alligator lawyer. 

John John Crow. 

The alligator's back is furnished with a toothed 
ridge, Like the edge of a saw, which explains the 
last line. 

When the work of the evening was over the 
negroes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One 
of them took his place as musician, whistling and 
heating time with two Bticks upon the floor. — 
Several of the men came forward and executed 
various dances, capering, prancing and drumming 
with heel and too upon the floor, with astonishing 
agility and perseverance, though all of them 
had performed their daily tasks and had worked 
all the evening, and sonic had walked from four 



27 

to seven miles to attond the corn. shucking. — 
From the dances a transition was made to a mock 
military parade, a sort of burlesque on our militia 
trainings, in which tho words of command and 
t,ho evolutions were extremely ludicrous. It be- 
came necessary for the commander to make a 
speech, and confessing his incapacity for public 
epei'king, he called upon a huge black man named 
Tobj' to address the company in his stead. Toby 
was a man of powerful frame, six feet liigh, his 
face ornamented with a beard of fashionable cut, 
who had hitherto stood leaning against the wall 
looking upon the frolic with an air of superiority. 
He consented, came forward, demanded a bit of 
paper to ho.'d in his hand and harangued the sol- 
diery. It wus evident that Toby had listened to 
•tump speeches in his day. He spoke of " de ma- 
jority of sons Carolina," " de interests of de state," 
" de honor of ole Ba'nwell district," and these 
phrases he connected by various expletives and 
joundt, of which we could make nothing. At 
length he began tn falter, when the captain with 
jdmiraMc presowee of mind camo to his relief, 
and interrupted and closed the harangue with a 
hurrah from tiro company. Toby was allowed 
by all the spectators, black and white, to have 
made an cxorllrnt speech. 

Tho blacks of this region arc a cheerful, care- 
less, dirty race, not hard worked, nnd in many re. 
spccls indulgently treated. It is of course tho do. 
sire of lire mnster tho* his slaves shall he laborious ; 
on the other hand it is the determination of the 
slave to lend as easy a life as ho can. Tho master 
has power of punishment on his side ; tho slave, 
on riib, has invincihlo inclination, and a thousand 
expedients learned by long practice. The result 
is a compromise, in which each party jiclds somc- 
thip.g ; and a good-natured though imperfect and 
slovenly obedience on one side, is purchased by 
good treatment on the other. I have been told 
by planters that the slave brought from Africa is 
much more serviceable, though more high spirited 
and dangerous, than the slave bom in this coun- 
try and trained to his condition. 

I have been impatiently waiting the approach 
of spring, sinco I came to this State, but the 
weather here is still what the inhabitants call 
winter. The season, I am told, is more than three 
weeks later than usual. Fields of Indian corn 
were planted in the beginning of March, which 
must be replanted, and the cotton planting is de- 
ferred for fine weather. The peach and plurnb 
trees Lave stood in blossom for weeks, and the 
forest trees which at this time' are usually in full 
foliage, are as bare as in December. Cattle are 
dying in the fields for want of pasture. 

I have thus had a sample of the winter climate 
of South Carolina. If never more severe or stormy 
than I havo already experienced, it must be an 
agreeablo one. The custom of sitting with open 
doors, however, I found a little difficult to like at 
first. A door in South Carolina, except perhaps 
the outer door of a house, is not made to-shut. It 
is merely a sort of flapper, an ornamental Hppen. 
dagc to the opening by wliich you enter a room, a 
kind of moveable screen made to swing to and fro 
but never to be Bccurcd by a latch, unless for 
some purpose of strict privacy. A door is the 
ventilator to the room ; the window* are not raised 
except in warm weather, but the door is kept open 
at all seasons. On cold days you have a bright 
firo of pine wood blazing before you, and a draught 
of cold air at your back. Tho reason given for 
this practice is, that fresh air is wholesome, and 
that close rooms occasion colds and consumptions. 



1843 

A LETTER OF EMERSON'S. 

A HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED NOTE 
TO ( HAE1.ES STEARNS WHEELER 
- (iOSSIP AND PHILOSOPHY OF 
I.-sl • -. 




A It-iii net] German philological publication, 
"Auglia: Zeitsehrift fur Engliscbe l'hilolo- 
Sie" (.Ii uinal of English Philology), pub- 
lished .it Halle, the ancient university town 
of Prussian Saxony, gives us a treasure trove 
in a 1 1 i t her to unpublished letter of Ralph 
Waldo Emerson's, written in 1*43 to Charles 
Steams Wheeler, a promising young literary 
mati of Cambridge, then in Germany seeking 
—and vainly seeking— restoration to health. 
This German publication is issued under the 
editorship of Ewald Fhigel and Gustav 
Schiruier, the former of Leipzig; and 
the memoir which embodies the letter of 
Emerson's is from Herr Flugel's hand. The 
observations which accompany the letter 
are in German, and they display an aston- 
ishiui.' decree of familiarity with American 
literature and American literary people. 
The minute accuracy with which the copi- 
ous En-lish extracts are printed, which the 
paper embodies, gives one, too, an impressive 
idea of German erudition. Not an error of a 
letter or of a punctuation mark is distin- 
guishable. 

Chailt-s Steams Wheeler, the youug man 
In wlioui the letter of Emerson was written, 
was tilst it divinity Student and then a tuto 
in (luck at Harvard College from ls:i.s 
MU. ami gained no little reputation there. 
f,,t hi-, learning and his literary activity. He 
<>d it cil. « hilt* there, an edition of Herodotus 
ami mi i dition of Tennyson's poems, besides 

onei '.:.;. in connection with Mr. Henry S. 
Mi Ke.'iii, au edition nf C.tilylu's Miscol- 
l,i in ii w ith such < are and -« :n, that Carlyle, 
whose atti ntion had been e tl'.e ! to the mal- 
let by Emerson, wrote (Dc. Z. 1 < is) . 

To my two young friends, Hi i.ry - McKean tie 
s,, good a-- write these names mor;- i.idisputably 
t,n uu-ia-.ul Charles Mearns Wii,"L-i. in particu- 
lar I wih vcz you to express t-:ni,h illc.illy my 
platitude: they have stood by me with rizhr 
tail tit i, ! nr = - . and made the correetegt printing . 
anient -iiviep. Had I known that there were 
such eve* aud heads acting In belnlf of me there. 
I would have scraped out the editorial til itches 
luo 'notes ol admiration, Hashes, "we thinks,' 
pic. ("ininon Id .left'rey's time in the Edin- 
Jmifth K\ie»,and London mispi -intj, which are 
•j'm, -t I i ■(• only detormities that remain now. It 
is exticinely correct printing wherever 1 have 
louked, ai.d many things ari- silently amended; 
it is the most lundamental (ervice of all. 

Wheel, r was one of the early contributors 
i , tin- l>..il but his hopeful career was cut 
slio.i by an affection of the lungs, to sain 
re :i f from which he wen! to Europe ill Is'lJ, 
.at i \ i'.ig \\ .i h hill! this letter fiom E.ut'.rsnu 
in Caih It- 

Stearns Wheeler, the Cauda idge tutor, a good 
ijiec-.nii. aiid the editor. ymi will romemlier, ol 

your American editions, is going to London m 
August probably, and on to Heidelberg, Jtc. 11" 
means. 1 believe, to spend two years in Germany 
and will come to see yon on his way; a man 
whose ti," faille and good-natured manners do 
some injustice to big virtues, to his great industry 
ami real kuowledge. He has been corresponding 
with your Tennyson, and editing hu Poems here. 
WlieeWr went to Retlin, anil then to Leip- 
zig, when- he died on the loth of June, ISM, 
m the twenty-fifth year of his age. 



1843 



KIN HKIKF KMKRSONS. 



28 



1843 



Concord, .'fn April, 1 **43. 

My Dear Wiieki.kk. 

It is very late for mo to begin to thank you l>y litter for your 
abundant cart; and supply of my wants, and, to point the. reproach, here 
has come this day as I am putting pen to paper to send by Mr. Mann 1 
to morrow, a pair of hooks from Mr. Weiss *, brought from your own 
hands. Two full letters I have received, & printed the substance of the 
same 3 , & had the reading of a part of two more addressed to Robert 
Bartlett' since I wrote you. Hut, all winter, from 1 January to 10 March, 
I was absent from home, at Washington, Baltimore, l'hila. & N. Y., & 
would not write letters to (Jermany, on the road. — What shall I tell 
you. Our Dial, enriched by your manifold Intelligence, yet languishes 
somewhat in the scantiness of purchasing patrons, so that Miss l'eabody ' 
wrote me at N. Y. that its subscription-list did not now pay its ex- 
penses. I hoped that was a hint not to be mistaken, that I might 
drop it. But many persons expressed so much regret at the tho't 
of its dying, that it is to live one year more. Ellery Channing" has 
written lately some good poems for it, one, especially, called "Death", 
& a copy of verses addressed by him to Elizabeth Hoar. Channing has 
just rented the little || (p. "J| red house next below mine', on the Turn- 
pike, and is coming to live here next week. His friend, 8. (i. Ward, is 
oditing a volume (about the size of one of your Tennyson's"), of C.'s 
poetry, which will appear in a week or two. Thoreau" goes next week 
to New York: My brother William at Staton Island 1 " has invited him to 
take charge of the education of his son, for a year or more & the neigh- 
borhood to the city offers many advantages to H. T. 

Hawthorn* remains in his seat, & writes very actively for all the 
magazines. Alcott 11 & Lane remain also in their cottage. Wright has 
withdrawn from them, & joins the Kourierists, who are beginning to buy 
& settle land. These are all our village news of any import: only, next 
week, they begin to build a railroad, which may unseat us all, & drive 
us into new solitudes. I do not notice any very valuable signs about 
us in the literary & spiritual realm. Yet I found at Washington, & at 
N. Y. some friends whom I greatly cherish. I think our wide Community 

with its abundant reading, & a culture not dependant on one city, but 
taking place every where in detached nervous centres, promises to yield, 
& already yields a great deal of private original unviolated thought & 
character. Nature is resolved to make || [p. 3) a stand against the 
market, which has grown so usurping & omnipotent. Everything shall 
not go to market; so she makes shy men, cloistered maids, & angels 
in lone places. 

Brook Farm 1 -' is an experiment of another kind, where a hotbed 
culture is applied, and everything private is published, & carried to its 
extreme. 1 loam from all quarters, that a great deal of action & courage 
has been shown there, ft my friend Hawthorn almost regrets that he had 
not remained there, to see the unfolding & issue of so much bold life. 
Me should have staid to be its historian. My friend Mr. Bradford writes 
me from B. F. that he has formed several new friendships with old friends, 
such flew grounds of character have been disclosed. They number in all 
about s5 souls. — You will have heard of Carlyle's new work, "Past ft 
I'resent". I am just now printing it in Boston 13 (from ms. partly) braving 
the chances of piracy from New York. It is certain to be popular from 
the fear of one class ft the hope of another: and it is preliminary, Carlylc 
seems to think, to Cromwell. It is full of brilliant points ft is excellent 
history, true history of England in IS48. — You will have heard of Robert 
Bartlett's illness, & the great anxiety of his friends respecting him. He 
went away, I heard, in good spirits, || (p. 4| ft somewhat amended: but 
his health is in a most critical condition. It is a great grief to me, who 
was every year learning to value him more, though there has been some- 
thing curious , as well as valuable, in his unfolding . . . Margaret Fuller 
thanks you for your account of Platen; and wishes further to ask you, 
to send her a copy of the Vol. Ill" of Eckermann's "Conversations with 



Anglla . XII (1889) 
454-459. 



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1843 39 

interested themselves for inc. Alas! I have nothing to ^ivc 
but thanks. Henry Me Kcan, Charles Wheeler, Convers Francis; 
these Names shall if it please Heaven, become Persons for me, 
one day'. Am 2. Dezember desselben jahres dankt Carlylc 
nochmals: 'To my two young friends, Henry S. McKean (be 
so good as write these names more indisputably for me) and 
Charles Stearns Wheeler, in particular, I will beg you to ex- 
press emphatically my gratitude; they have stood by me with 
right faithfulness, and made the correctest printing; a great 
service: had I known that there were such eyes and heads acting 
in behalf of me there, I would have scraped out the Editorial 
blotches too (notes of admiration, dashes, u We think"s, &c, etc., 
common in Jeffrey's time in the Edinburgh Review) and London 
misprints; which are almost the only deformities that remain 
now. It is extremely correct printing wherever 1 have looked 
and many things are silently amended; it is the most funda- 
mental service of all'. 

Emerson's Carlyleausgaben schcinen Wheeler zu eiuer 
amerikanisehen ausgabe von Tennyson's gediehten angeregt zu 
haben (vgl. anm. H). Wheeler's hott'nungsreichc tiitigkeit als 
schriftsteller, besonders in verbindung mit dem neugegrlludeten 
'Dial', wurde zu frlih unterbroehen durch ein lungenleiden, fur 
welches er heilung 1842 in Europa suchtc. 

M scheint Carlylc in Chelsea eincu bcsucli abgestattct zu 
haben ' unci ging dann liber Herlin nach Leipzig, wo er ticf- 
bctraucrt von seinen anierikanischen nnd dcutschen freunden 2 
am 1JJ. .luui I S 1 :i ini alter von flinfuudzwanzig jahren seinem 
leideu crlag. 

Anmcrkungen. 

1. Horace Mann (I75MJ — l>5fl), beriihinter piidagogischcr schrift- 
steller, besonders bekannt (lurch seinen Report of au Educational Tour 
in Germany, Great liritain and Ireland 1843. 

2. Hev. John Weiss (|s|s— issii). Urspriinglich unitarischer geist- 
licher, seit IMK) einer der letter der frcireligidsen bewegung, crwarb sich 
grosses verdienst inn die deutsche literatur mit seiner iibcrsetzung von 
Schiller's philosophischen werken. Hauptwerk: biographic Theodore 
Parker's. 

.'t. l>iese ' Letters' sind, nach Ire land's handcxcmplar des Dial, mit- 
geteilt in Cooke's vortrefflicher <|uelleuuntersuchung; sie stehen l>ial HI, 
no.lt mid no. -I; vgl. Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Concord, Mass., 
1885 (vol. l'.l, p. 225 tf.). — 1st der brief ini 4. bande des Dial (no. 3): 
'Deutsche Sehnellpost' ebenfalls von WheelerV Wic lange wird Ainerika 
ziigeru, den Dial — ein hauptwerk aus der interessantesten periode seiner 
literatur wider zugiinglich zu inachenV 

4. Allibone gibt den nanien nicht. 

5. Miss Pcabody (* 1S04, noch am leben), besonders bekannt durch 
ihre piidagogisclie tiitigkeit. Sie fiihrte die kindergarten-schools in Ainerika 
ein. Hire werke s. bei Allibone und .1. S. Hart, American Literature p. 557. 

Was Emerson an Wheeler schreibt, berichtet er auch an Carlylo am 
29. April IM.t (Corr. II, .'(2): 'I have, hardly space left to say what I would 
concerning the Dial. I heartily hoped I had done with it, when lately 
our poor, good, . .. publishing Miss Pcabody wrote me that its subscription 
would not pay its expenses (we all writing for love). But certain friends 
are very unwilling it should die, and I a little unwilling, though very un- 
willing to be the life of it, as editor'. 

('.. William Ellery Channing(* 1H1S), dessen gedichte zuerst 184.» 
orschienen, verdankt seinen crsten erfolg als dichter entschleden Emerson's 
beniUhungcn, der schon 1840 iiu Dial (New Poetry wariim nicht in die 



1843 




1 Emerson an Carlyle am 1. Juli 1842: 'Stearns Wheeler, the Cam- 
bridge Tutor, a good Grecian, and the 1 editor, you will remember, of your 
American Editions, is going to London in August probably, and on to 
Heidelberg, &c. He means, I believe, to spend two years in Germany, 



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30 



Ucbcr Lane und Wright (vgl. anin. 15) vcrmag ich nichts aDzugcben. 

12. Ucber die bekannte Brook Farm - bewegung ist der abschnitt 
iu Emerson's grundlegendem aufsatze Historic Notes of Life and Letters 
in New England (Works X, ;ns ff.) zu vergleichen: 'The West Roxbury 
association was formed in 1*41, by a Society of members, men and women, 
who bought a farm in West Roxbury of about two hundred acres, and 
took possession of the place in April. Mr. George Ripley was the Pre- 
sident, and I think Mr. Charles Dana . . . was the secretary. Many members 
took shares by paying money, others held shares by their labor . . . Many 
persons attracted by the beauty of the place and the culture and ambition 
of the community, joined them as boarders, and lived there for years. 
I think the numbers of this mixed community soon reached eighty or 
ninety soiiIr. It was a noble and generous movement in the projectors, 
to try an experiment of better living. They had the feeling that our ways 
of living were too conventional and expensive, not allowing each to do 
what he had a talent for, and not permitting men to combine cultivation 
of mind and heart with a reasonable amount of daily labor .... The 
Founders of Brook Farm should have this praise, that they made what 
all people try to make, an agreeable place to live in . . . It was a close 
union like that in a ship's cabin, of clergymen, young collegians, mer- 
chants, mechanics, fanner's sons and daughters, with men and women of 
rare opportunities and rare culture, yet assembled there by a sentiment 
which all shared, some of them hotly shared, of the honesty of a life of 
labor, and of the beauty of a life of humanity . . .' 

In die literaturgeschichte fiihrte Hawthorne die Brook Farm-bewegung 
ein in seiner kostlichon Blithedale Romance. Fine voile geschichte dcr- 
sclben ist noch nicht veriitl'cntlicht, aber angefiihrt in der History of Coope- 
ration in the U.S. (Baltimore Johns Hopkins Univ. Studies in Hist, and l'ol. 
Science, Isss, VI, l>>): .John T. Codnian, of Boston, whose unpublished 
History of Brook Farm was freely used by Mr Frothingham in his Life 
of Rev. George Ripley. 

13. Ueher Fast and Present vgl. Emerson's brief an Carlyle vom 
29. April l*4H (Corr. II, 21)) und die von Norton daselbst mitgeteilte tage- 
buchstellc s. 33. Ueber die amerikanische ausgabe schreibt Carlyle an 
Emerson vom ll.Marz und I.April desselben jahres. 

11. Der dritte band Eckermann's erschien erst I SIT, so dass Mar- 
garet Fuller noch vier jahre warten musste! 

15. (Zu anin. II) Ich vcrmute, dass unter Wright an William Bull 
Wright (Dr. Wright) gedacht ist (1838— 1880), dessen Stedinan in seinen 
vortrerTlichen l'oets of America (s. 52) gedenkt. Er gehiirt zu der diehter- 
schulc, welche Poe als die 'transcendental poets' geisselt. 

Leipzig. Ewald FlOgel. 



1843 
The Coiisociiile family Life. 
Tu A. Bkoiikk, of (htkl/nul, Ohio: 

I) far Sin — Having perused your several loiters 
in the newspapers, mid lindinir, moreover, a general 
invitation to correspondence from 'persons u ho 
feel prepared to co-operate m the work of reform 
upon principles' akin to those yon have tin-re set 
forth, I take tins public means of COtllinuiiiiig - 1 iili 
one who seems to be really desirous of aiding ■ en- 
tire human regeneration J 

Al'ler many years passed in admiration of a belter 
order in human society, with u constant expectation 
that some !>oginnin;r would shortly be made, and a 
continued reliance that some party would make it, 
the idea has gradually gained possession of my 
mind, that it is nm right thus to linger for the lead- 
ings of other men. but that each should at once pro- 
ceed to live out the proposed life to the utmost pos- 
sible extent. Assured that the most potent hind- 
rance to goodness abides in the soul itself; next in 
the bidy ; thirdly in the house ami family; and, in 
the fourth degree, only ■ i i our neighbors, or in socie- 
ty at large, i have daily found less ami less reason 
to complain ot public intitutions, or of the diiatori- 
ness of reformers and genetic minds. 

Animated by pure reform principles, or rather by 
pure creative spirit, I have not hesitated to with- 
draw ns far and as fast as hopeful prudence dictated, 
from the practices anil principles cif the old world. 
And, acting upon the conviction that whatever oth- 
ers might do, or leave undone ; however others might 
fail in their realization of their ideal good ; I, at 
least, (should advance. I have accordingly arrived 
in that region where I perceive yoo theoretically, 
and I hope actually dwell. I agree with you thuli! 
would be well to cro«s the ocean of life from the 
narrow island of selfishness lo the broad continent 
oi universal love at ono dash ; but the winds are not 
always propitious ; and steam is only n recent in- 
vention. I cannot yet boast of a year's ('mancipa- 
tion from Old Fngluud. One free -step leads lo 
another; and ihe third must as necessarily precede 
the fourth, as the second was before the third. 

A Hrouson Alcott's visit to England last year, 
opened to me some of the superior conditions for a 
pure life, winch this country oilers compared to the 
land of my nativity, and that of your ancestors. My 
love for purity and goodness was sufficiently strong, 

*s 



-^ 



n;t"iTT.\.\i>s. 

Wt: have received n communication from Messrs. Alcotl and 
Lane, dated from their farm, 1'niitluntl?, in Harvard, Massa- 
chusetts, from which we make the following extract. 

'•We have made nn arrangement with the proprietor of an estate of 
about a hundred acres, which liberates this tract from human owner- 
ship. For picturesque beauty both in the near ami the d;stant land- 
scope, the spot has few rivals. A semi-circle of undulating hills 
stretches from south to west, anions' which the Wachusott and Monad- 
noc are conspicuous. The vale, through winch Hows a tributary to 
the Nashua, is esteemed for its fertility and ease of cultivation, is 
adorned with groves of nut-trees, maples, and pines, and watered bv 
small streams. Distant not thirty miles from the metropolis of New 
England, this reserve lies in a serene and sequestered dell. No public 
thoroughfare invades it. but it is entered by a private road. The 
nearest hamlet is that of Stillnver, a field's walk of twenty minutes, 
and the village of Harvard is reached by circuitous and hilly roads of 
nearly three miles. 

"Here we prosecute our erlort to initiate a Family iu harmony with 
the primitive instincts in man. The present buildings being ill 
placed and unsightly as well as inconvenient, are to be temporarily 
used, until suitable and tasteful buildings in harmony with ihe natural 
scene can he completed. An excellent site otters itself on the skirts 
of the nearest wood, affording shade and shelter, and coinmandinir a 
view of the lands of the estate, nearly all of which ure capable of 
spade culture. It is intended to adorn the pastures with orchards, and 



to supersede ultimately the labor of the plough and cattle, by the spade 
and the pruning knife. 

"Our planting and other works, both without and within doors, are 
already in active progress. The present Family numbers ten individ- 
uals, five being children of the founders. Ordinary secular farming is 
not our object. Fruit, grain, pulse, garden plants and herbs, flux and 
other vegetable products for food, raiment, and domestic uses, receiving 
assiduous attention, afford at once ample manual occupation, and chaste 
supplies for the bodily needs. Consecrated to human freedom, the 
land awaits the sober culture of devout men. 

"Beginning with small pecuniary means, this enterprise must be 
rooted in a reliance on the succors of an ever bounteous I'rovidence, 
whose vital affinities being secured by this union with uncorrnptcd' 
fields and unworldly persons, the cares and injuries of a life of train 
are avoided. 

"The inner nature of every member of the Family is at no tune 
neglected. A constant leaning ,„| the living spirit 'within the soul 
should consecrate every talent to holy uses, cherishing the widest 
charities. The choice Library (of which a partial catalogue »as .riven 
iu Dial No. XII.) is accessible to all who are desirous of poriisin" 
these records of piety and wisdom. Our plan contemplates all Mich 
disciplines, cultures, and habits, as evidently conduce to the purifying 
and edifying of the inmates. Fledged to ihe spun alone, the founders 

can anticipate no hasty or numerous accession to their n hers. 

The kingdom of peace is entered only through the gates of self-uenial 
and abandonment ; and felicity is the test and the reward of obedience 
to the unswerving law of Love. 

Jinn- in, I s|.'t. 



1843 

U seems, to loosen me from a position us regards 
pecuniary income, affectionate friends, and mental 
liberty, which millions tliero and thousands here 
might envy. It has happened, however, that of the 
many persons with whom Mr. Alcutt hoped t-> act in 
junction and concert, not one is yet fully liberated 
py I'rovidencc to that end. So thfU, instead of form- 
ing items in a larger enterprise, we ore left to lie the 
Principal nctors in promoting an iden, less in extent, 

nt irroatcr in intout, than any yet presented to our 
observation. 

All our preliminary transactions may not have 
been so clear and clean as you and wc desire ; but 
we have not paralyzed future good by excuse of 
place or time. By never doing any act below our 
intentions of principle at the moment, wc are aided 
to clearer insight and loftier inspiration for the next 
step. Our removal to this estate in bumble confi- 
dence, has drawn to us several practical coadjutors, 
and opened many inquiries by letter for a statement 
of our principles and modes of life. Wc cannot, 
|M?rliaps, turn our replies to better account than to 
transcribe some portions of them for' your informa- 
tion, and, we trust, for your sincere satisfaction. 

You must be aware, however, tiiat written words 
cannot do much toward the elucidation of principles 
comprehending all human relationships, and claiming 
an origin profound as man's inmost consciousness of 
the ever-present Living Spirit. A dwelling togeth- 
er, a concert in soul, ami a consorting in body, is a 
position needful to entire understanding, which we 
hope at no distant day to attain with yourself, and 
many other sincere friends. We have not yet drawn 
out any preordained plan of daily operations, as 
we are impressed with the conviction that by a 
faithful reliance on the spirit which actuates us 
we arc sure of attaining to clear revelations of daily 
practical duties as they are to be daily done by us. 
Where the spirit of love and wisdom abounds, liter- 
al forms are needless, irksome, ot hinderativc : 
where tlic spirit is lacking, no preconceived rules 
can compensate. 

To us it appears not so much that improved cir- 
cumstances are to meliorate mankind, as that im- 
proved men will originate the superior conditions fur 
themselves and others. I'pon tho human will, and 
not upon circumstances, as some philosophers asjert, 
rest tlic function, power, ami duty of generating a 
better social state. The human beings in whom the 
Internal Spirit hasascended from low animal delights 
of mere humane affections, to a state of spiritual 
chastity and intuition uro in themselves a divine 
atmosphere, they arc superior circumstances, and are 
constant in endeavoring to create, us well as to mod- 
ify, nil other conditions, so that these also shall more 
and more conduce to the like consciousness in 
others. 

Hence our peseverance in efforts to attain sim- 
plicity in diet, plain garments, pure bathing, unsul- 
lied dwellings, open conduct, gentle behaviour, kind- 
ly sympathies, serene minds. These and the sever- 
al other particulars needful to the true end of man's 
residence on earth, nmy be designated the family 
life. Happiness, though not the direct object in hu- 
man energy, may be accepted as the continuation ot 
rectitude, ami this is no otherwise attainable than in 
the holy family. The family, in its highest, divines! 
sense, is therefore our true position, our sacred 
earthly destiny. It comprehends every divine, every 
humane relation consistent with universal good, and 
all others it rejects, as it disdains all animal sensual- 
ities. 

Lieut be admitted as the embosoming of the moat 
vitavk, and only creative of all human acts, and w« 
are convinced of the absorbing importance of famil, 
life. The next age depends much for its character, 
its modification, its happiness, on parents in this gen- 
eration, as they have depended on their parents, by 
the relative opposition or concurrence of their wills 
with the Divine will. In a deep sense, all human 
conduct may be said to centre in this act. As birds 
migrate to otK latitude in the warm season, build 



31 

and use their nests', sing a song or two, and as the 
cold approaches, depart to a wanner zone, so man is 
sent from balmier cliinvs to breed upon the earth, 
and all other actions should be but preparative to 
this of securing an offspring unprofaned by self-will, 
untinctured by lust. 

The evils of life are nut so much social or politi- 
cal, as personal ; and a personal reform only can 
eradicate them. 

Let the family, furthermore, be viewed as the 
home of pure social uffoctions, the school of ex- 
panding intelligence, the sphere of unbought wit, 
the scene of joyous employment, and we feel in that 
single sentiment a fullness of action, of life, of be- 
ing, which no scientific social contrivance can an- 
swer, nor selfish accident supply. 

Family is not dependent upon numbers, nor upon 
6kill, nor riches, but upon union in and with that spirit 
which alone can bless any enterprise whatsoever. 
While, therefore, wc feci a sympathy toward every 
endeavor to amend man's social position, and would 
promote them as far as we deem them progressive, 
we are bound to declare their shortcoming, and that 
wc have no hope for permanent human happiness 
from any acts, tiling, or person, not originating in 
immediate inspiration. All else is but an attraction 
which allures to destroy. Rather is self-denial the 
straight and narrow way to eternal life, than the en- 
ticements of increased indulgence which almost all 
associative endeavors have in view. 

On this topic of family association, it will not in- 
volve an entire agreement with the Shakcr3 to say 
they are at least entitled to deeper consideration 
than they yet appear to have secured. There are 
many important facts in their career worthy of ob- 
servation. It is, perhaps, most striking that the only 
really successful extensive community of interest, 
spiritual and secular, in modern times, was estab- 
lished by a woman. Again, we witness in this 
people the bringing together of the two sexes in a 
new relation, or rather with a new idea of the old re- 
lation. This has led to results more harmonic than 
any one seriously believes attainable for the human 
race, either in isolation or association, so long as di- 
vided, conflicting family arrangements are permit- 
ted. It is not absurd to suppose that all future good 
hinges upon this very subject of marriage. In fact, 
nothing but absolute ignorance of the law of human 
generation can doubt it. The great secular success 
of the Shakers, their order, cleanliness, intelligence 
and serenity, are so eminent, that it is worthy of in- 
quiry how far these are attributable lo an adherence 
to their peculiar doctrine. 

As to property, we discover not its just disposal 
either in individual or social tenures, but in its en- 
tire absorption into the new spirit, which ever gives 
and never grasps. The notion of property is the 
prolific aeed of so many evils that there seems little 
■one for humanity so long as it is made a leaainc 
Miwideration, or is harbored in the human bosom 
tt m even possible that if the projects now before 

the duMic were in actual operation, the evils of life 
*nuld become more fixed by reason of the greater 
refinement of this demon property, which would be 
more difficult to cast out of an orderly arrangement 
than from the present chaos of mankind, where its 
evils are less glossed. From the midst, of this sin 
and its co:isp(fuences it is difficult to emerge without 
committing more sin. The demonstration of our 
example, in proceeding actually to the greatest nos- 
sihlc extent in the pore discretion has, however, at- 
tracted toward us ether needful assistance. While 
we write, negotiations are entertained for our remo- 
val to a place of less inconvenience, by friends who 
have long waited for some proof of a determination 
to act np to the idea they have cherished. Many, 
no doubt, arc yet unprepared ' to give up all and fol- 
low him, 1 (the Spirit,) who can importantly aid in the 
New Advent, ai.d conscientiously accomplish the 
legal processes needful under the present circum- 
stances. We do not recognise the purchase of land: 
but its redemption from the debasing state of pro- 



1843 



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•o long at it continues, and overlay them by the in- 
jurious and extravagant devclopoment of the animal 
and bestial natures in man. No one can fail to per- 
ceive that if caille were no longer bred ond fed for 
the slaughter, milking or draught, the human family 

misrht be drawn much closer together all over the 
enuntrv. It is circulated that if no animal food 
were consumed, one-fourth of the land now used 
would suffice for human sustinancc. And the ex- 
tensive tracts now appropriated to grazing, mowing, 
and other modes of animal provision, could be culti- 
vated by and for intelligent and affectionate tinman 
neighbors. The sty and the 6table now secure 
more of the fanner's regard than he bestows on the 
garden and the children. No hope is there for hu- 
manity while woman is withdrawn from the tender 
assiduities whicli adorn her and her household, to 
the servitudes of tiie dairy and the flesh-pots. Omit- 
ting, also, to discuss the question of the debasing 
influences upon the children by the intrusion of ani- 
mals into the daily thoughts and conduct, it may yet 
be observed that if the beasts were wholly absent 
from man's neighborhood, the human population 
might be at least four limes as dense as it now is 
without rai.-ing the price of land. This would give 
to the country all the advantages of concentration, 
without the vices which always spring up in the 
dense city. 

Debauchery of both the earthly soil and the hu- 
man body, is the result of this cattle-keeping. The 
land is scourged for crops to feed the animals, whose 
filthy odours are used under the erroneous supposition 
of restoring the best fertility ; disease is thus infused 
into the human body; stimulants and medicines are 
resorted to for relief, which end in a precipitation of 
the original evil to a more disastrous depth. These 
misfortunes, which afTect not only the body, but by 
reaction rise to the sphere of the soul, would be 
avoided, at least in part, by the disuse of animal 
food. Our diet is strictly of the pure and bloodless 
kind. No animal aubstanco, neither flesh, butter, 
cheese, eggs, nor milk, pollute our tables, or corrupt 
our bodies. Neither tea, coffee, molasses, nor rice, 
tempt us beyond the bounds of indigenous produc- 
tions. Our sole beverage is pure fountain water; 
end the native grains, fruits, herbs and roots, dressed 
with the utmost cleanliness, and regard to their 
purpose of edifying a healthful body, furnish the 
pleaaantest reflections, and in tho greatest variety 
requisite to tho supply of the various organs. Tho 
fields, the orchard, the garden, in their bounteous 
products of wheat, rye, barley, mnize, oats, buck- 
wheat, apples, peart, peaches, nlums, cherrios, cur- 
rents, berries, potatoes, peat, beans, beets, carrots, 
mellont and other vines, yield an ample store for 
human nutrition, without dependence on foreign 
climes, or the degrcdations of shipping and trade. 
The almost inexhaustible variety which the several 
stages and torts of vegatable growth, and the sever- 
al modes of preparation afford, arc a full answer to 
toe question which is so often put by thoso who have 
never ventured into the regions of a pure and chaste 

«'«t: *If vou pivc ud meat, upon what then can you 
Km Si 

Onr other domestic habits are in harmony with 
those of diet We riso at early dawn, commence 
tne uuy witn com Dathing, succeeded by a music 
lesson, and then a chaste repast. Each one finds 
occupation until the meridian meal, when usually 
some interesting and deep-searching conversation 
gives rest to the body and dcvelopcment to the 
mind. Occupation, according to the season and the 
weather, engages us out of doors or within, until the 
evening meal, when we again assemble in soci.il 
communion, prolonged generally until sunset, when 
we resort to sweet repose for the next day's ac- 
tivity. 

In these steps of reform, we do not rely so much 
on scientific reasoning or physiological skill, as on 
the Spirit's dictates. The pure soul, by the law in 
its own nature, adopts a pure diet and cleanly cus- 
toms ; nor needs detailed instruction for daily con- 



32 

duct. On a revision of our proceedings it would 
seem, that if we are in the right course in our par- 
ticular instance, the greater part of man's duty con- 
sists in leaving alone much that he is in the habit of 
doing. It is a fasting from much of the present ac- 
tivity, rather than an increased indulgence in it, 
which, with patient watchfulness, tends to newness 
of life. Shall 1 sip tea or co'iec, the inquiry may be. 
No. Abstain from nil ardent, as from alcoholic 
drinks. Shall I coiisumo york, beef or mutton ? Not 
if I value health or life. Shall I stimulate with 
milk? No. Shall I warm my bathing water? Nut 
if cheerfulness is valuable. Shall I clothe in many 
garments? Not if purity is aimed ot. Shall I pro- 
long my dark hours, consuming animal oil, and 
losing bright daylight in the morning? Not if a 
clear mind is an object. Shall I teach my children 
the dogmas inflicted on myself, under the pretence 
that I am transmitting truth? Nay, if you love 
them, intrude not these between them and the spirit 
of all truth. Shall 1 become a hireling, or hire oth- 
ers? Shall I subjugate cattle ? Shall I trade? Shall 
I claim property in any created thing? Shall I adopt 
a form of religion? Shall 1 become a parent? Shall 
I interest myself in politics? To how many of these 
questions, could we ask them deeply enough, could 
they be heard as having relation to our eternal 
welfare, would the response be 'abstain?' 'Be 
not so active to do, as sincere to be. Being, in pre- 
ference to doing, is the great aim, and this conies to 
us ratiier by n resigned willingness than a wilful ac- 
tivity ; which is, indeed, n cheek to all divine growth. 
Outward abstinence is a sign of inward fullness; 
and the only source of true progress is inward. Wo 
may occupy ourselves actively in human improve- 
ments; but these, unless inwardly well-impelled, 
never attain to, but rather hinder, divine progress in 
man. 

During the utterance of this narrative it has un- 
dergone some change in its personal expression 
which might offend the hypercritical ; but we feel 
assured that you will kindly accept it as the unartful 
offering of both your friends in ceaseless aspiration. 
CHARLES LANE. 
A. BKONSON ALCOTT. 
Harvard. Mass.. August, 1843. 



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CM 



THE TR IBUN K 

ffon dM N»»- Y «k £?w(«lal. 

ItaUBHsdlsvU KnuaelpMlon ... A Sketch 

bt mi. EUi irr asit cBia itowi. 

It may b« -ratifying te those who desire to >h 
thiok well of human nature, to know that Cie *j 
laadino; incidents of the subjoined ekeich tie 
litaral matters of fact, oocuran-; in the city of . 
Cinoinnati, whioh have come within the scope >-< 
of the writer's personul knowledge — theincidexis J? 
have meicly been clithed io a dramatic form, o 
present them more vividly to the reader. 

In one of the hotel parlors of our Queen city, 
a young gentleman, apparently in no very ea>-y 
frame of mind, was pacing up and down -t ■« 
room, looking alternately ut hit watch and o it 
of the window, as if expecting somebody. At 
last he rang the bell violently, and a hotel •< r- 
vant toon appeared. 

" Hat iny man Sam, come in yet T" he in- 
quired. 

The polished yellow gentleman, to whom thij 2 \ : Z "- = 
was addrefHcd, answered with a polite, but torn •- -- 3 '* I J 
what sinister smirk, that nothing had been .te> n | '5 S "-■ >_ J 
of him since early that morninif. B « " 

" Laiy dog ! full three hoars tines, I tent 
off to B street, and I have teen nothing 
him tioee." §m£»2-^-S.1s-3«"&.2 

The yellow gentleman remarked with cons-.l. £ - = J " *a % g "L"= -0^-3^ 
story politeness, that he " hoped Sam had n .t * © g,| 1 Q * S -S u « 5 4 a f- 
rvn away, adding, with au ill-concealed grin, "J- •««*- 5"'3oi": «i: 
that them bnyt was mighty apt to show the dec qjs -5.3 3 BSScJ 



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1845 

brother ; why not f A warm-hearted man will 
love hi* dog, hu horse, even to grieving bitterly 
fur their loss, and why not credit the fact thai 
•uch • one may lose the human creature whom 
•eouraed ouatom haa placed on the same level. 

The fact waa, Alfred B did love thie young 

man ; he had been appropriated to him in child 
hood, and Al'ed had always redressed his griev- 
ances, fought hia battlea, got him-out of scrapes 
and purobased-for him with a liberal hand, in. 
dulgenciea to which hi* comrades were strangers. 
He had taken pride to dreaa him smartly, and as 
for hardship and want, they had never come near 
him. 

" The poor, ailly, ungrateful puppy i" aolilo. 
quized he, " what can he do with himself ? Con. 
found that Quaker, and all hia meddlesome tribo 
— been at him with their bloody-bone atone*, I 
euppoi* — Sara kuowa batter — the seamr. — Hal. 
loa, there," he called (o oneof the waiteis, "wheio 
doe* this Simpkins— Simon — Simmons, or what 
d'ye call him, live ?" 

" Hia ■hop is No. 5, on G street." 

" Well, I 'II go at him, and aee what business 
he has with my affairs " 

The Quaker waa sitting at the door of his shop, 
with a round, rosy, good humored face, so ex. 
pre9aive of placidity and satisfaction, that it was 
difficult to approach it with ireful feeling. 

" Is your name Simmons 7" demanded Alfred 
in a voice whose natural urbanity waa aumewhat 
sharpened hy vexation. 

" Yoa friend ; what dost thou wish ?" 

" I wish to inquire whether you have seen any. 
thing of my colored fellow, Sam ; a man of 
twenty-rive or thereabout*, lodging at the Peerl- 
■Ueet House ?" 

"I rather cuapect that I have," said the Quak- 
er, in a quiet, meditative tone, as if thinking the 
matter over with himself. 

" And in it true, sir, thai you have encouraged 
and assisted him in his efforts to get out of uiy 
earvice." 

" Such, truly, is tho fact, my friend." 

Losing p iticncc at thin provoking equanimity, 
our young friend poured forth his sentiments with 
no inconsiderable energy, und in term* not the 
moat select or pacific, all which our Quaker re- 
ceived with that plicid, full orbed tranquillity of 
countenance, which seemed to say, " Pray, sir, 
relieve your mind ; don't be particular ; scold a* 
hard as y hi like." Tno singularity of tms ex- 
pression struck i lie young man, and as his wraih 
became gradually spent, ho could not helpluughing 
at the tranquillny of his opponent, and he grud. 
oa'ly changed his tone for one of expostulation 
•' Wbat motive could induce you, sir, thus to 
incommode a stranger, and one who never injured 
you at all 7" 

" I am sorry thou art incommoded," rejoined 
the Qmker. " Thy servant, aa thee calls him, 
c»me to me, and I helped huh aa I wou.d an, 
other poor fellow in distress " 

" Pooa felow !" said Alfred, angrily ; " that'a 
the story of the whole of you. I tell you tWre is 
not a free negro in your city to well off as my 
Sam is, and always hus been, and We'll find it out 
before long." 

" But tell me, friend, thou moyeat die, as well 
aa another man ; thy eiUblinhineut may fall into 
debt, aa wol I as another min's; and thy Sam 
may be sold by the sheriff fur debt, or cbanao 
hand in dividing tho estate, and so, though ho 
was bred easily; and well cared lor, he may come 
to be a field hand, under hard masters, starved, 
beaten, overworked— such things do happen 
sometimes, do they not 7" 

" Sometimes, perhap*, they do," replied tlio 
young man. 

" Web", look you, by our laws in Ohio, thy Sa.u 
is no w a free man ; aa free aa I or thou ; he hai h 
a strong back, good hands, good courage, cjoii 

earn hia ten or twelve dollars a month or do 

better; now taking all thing* into account, if 



33 

tbee were in hia plaoe, what would thee do— 
would thae go back a alave, or try luck aa a free 
man 7" 

Alfred said nothing in reply to this, only after 
a while he murmured half to himself, " I thought 
the fellow had more gratitude, after all my kind. 
MM." 

"Thee talk of gratitude," said the Quaker, 
** now how does that account stand 7 Thou hast 
fed, and clothed, and protected tbia man ; thou 
haat not starved, beaten, or abused him ; it would 
have been unworthy of thee ; thou best shown 
him special kindness, and, in return, he has given 
thee faithful service for fifteen or twenty ycara; 
all his time, all his strength, all he could do or 
be, he has given thee, and ye are about even." 
The young man looked thoughtful, but made no 
reply. 

" Sir," said he, at last, " I will take no unfair 
advantage of you; I wish to get my servant once 
more ; can I do bo 7" 

" Certainly. I will bring him lo thy lodgings 
this evening, if thee wish it. I know thee will do 
what is fair," replied the Qut-kcr. 

It were difficult to define the thoughts of the 
young man, aa he returned to his lodgings. Na- 
turally generous and humane, be had nevur 
dieamed that he had rendered injustice to the hu- 
man beings he claimed as hia own. Injustice 
and oppression ho had sometimes seen with de- 
testation In other establishments ; but it had bc< n 
his pride that they were excluded from his own. 
It had been his pride to think that his indulgence 
and liberality made a situation of dependence on 
him preferable even to liberty. 

The dark picture of puasible reverses which the 
alave Bystom hangs over tho lot of tho most fa- 
vored slaves, never oceurred to him. Accord, 
ingly, at six o'clock that evening, a light tap ut 
the door of Mr. B.'m parlor, announced the Quak 
er, and hanging back behind him, the relue'.unt 
Sum, who, with all Ins novvly.acquircd love of 
liberty, felt almost as if he were treating his old 
uittfltur rather shabbily, in deporting him. 

" So, Sam," said Alfred, "how is this 7 they 
say you waut to leavo me." 

'• Yes, master." 

" Why, what's the matter, Sam 7 haven't ( 
always been good to you: and has not my 
father always been gjod to you 7" 

" Oh. yes, master: very good." 

" Have you not alwaya had good food, goud 
clothes, and lived easy 7" 

" Yr-, W:it-l0r." 

" And nobody has ever abused you 7" 

" No, master." 

" Well, then, why do you wish tu leave me 7" 

" Oh, ril'iasa, I want to be a free man." 

" Why, Sam; am'l you well enough off, now 7" 

"Oh, mas9u may die; thou nobody knows 
who get mo ; some dreadful folks, you know, 
master, miijht get me, aa thoy did Jim Sanford, 
and nohody to take my part. No, roaster. I 
rather he free man." 

Alfred turned to the window, and thought a 
few moment", and then said, turning nrviut, 
" Well, Sain, I believe you are right. I Lhiiili, 
on the whole, I'd like beat to be a free man my. 
self, and I must not wonder that you do. So, 
fur aught I see, you must go; but then, Sam, 
there's vour wife and child." Sam's countenance 
fell. 

"Nevermind, Sam. I will send them up to 
you " 

" Oh. master!" 

"1 will; but you uiu»t remember i.ow, Sam, 
you have got both jourprlf and them to takeca'ti 
of, and hav.i no inia'er to look afier you; l.o 
steady, sober and indiis'.rinu*, and then, if cur 
you gel into distrcH-, fend word to mo. and I'll 
help y hi." Lest any ticcuae us of over colnnn ; 
our story, wo will clone it by extracting a pun ■> i: 
or two from the letter which (lie g< ne mm ynun t 



1845 

man tho next day left in the hands of the Quaker, 
fur his emancipated servant. We can assure 
our readeis that we copy from the original docL- 
ment, which now lies before us: 

Dear Sam: I am just «u the eve of my deparluio 
for Pittsburg ; 1 may not see you ar, an fur a too ; 
tune, perhaps never, and 1 leave this letter Willi 
your frieuds, Messrs. A. Si. B. for you, and hen- 
with bid you an affectionate farewell. L«t me givo 
you some advice, wbich is, now that you are a free 
una. i u f r e,> smu, he obedient a* you were when 
a slave, peilorm utt itw^»;iee ituO. w«> required if 
you, and do all you Can krr your own lutuie wel.'tri 
and respectability. Let me assure ydu that 1 havi 
the same guod looling towards you mat you Know 
L always bad; and let rjio tell you fuller, that >l 
•vti,- you want a friend, cull or write^o me, uud I 
wi|l be thut Irieiid. Should you be jjiek, and no( 
able to work, and waul moaey to a sin ill amount ni 
diBereut limes, write to mn, and r\WfJ'alwuys. fci 
you have it. 1 huve not rmh um *at J>res£n( inuqii 
money, though 1 will leave with my^gehls hell, 
the Messis. VV., $5 fur you: you inuirs^tgivn them 
your receipt lor it. On my return from Piasburg, I 
will call and see you il 1 have time ; fail nut to writ.' 
to my lather, for be made you a good master, and 
you should alivays treat him with respect, and 
cherish his memory so lung aa you live. Be good, 
Industrious and honorable, and if unfortunate in 
your undertakings, never furret that you have u 
Iriend io me — farewell, and believe rne your afTec- 
tiouate vouog master and Irian J. 
. . ALFRED B . 

That dispositions aa ingenuous and noble as 
that of this young man are commonly to bo 
found either in Slave States or in free, is moro 
than we dare assert; but when we sea such 
found e»en among those who are born and bred 
slaveholders, we can.iot but feel that thero is en. 
courugement for a fair, arid mild, and brotherly 
presentation of trutu, and every reason to lament 
hasty and wholesale denunciations. Thu great 
error of controversy is, that it is ever ready to 
assail persons rather than principles. The slave 
system, as a system, perhups concentrates moro 
wrong than any other now existing ; and yet 
those who live under and in it may be, as wo 
see, enlightened, generous, and amenable to rea- 
son. If the system alone is attacked, such minds 
will be the find to perceive its evils and to tutu 
against it; but if the system be attacked through 
individuals, self-love, wounded pride, and a thou- 
sand natural feelings will be at once enjisled for 
ita preservation. We therefore subjoin it as the 
moral of our story, that a man who has had the 
misfortune to be bom end bred a slaveholder 
may bo enlightened, generous, humane, and ca- 
paidt of thu most disinterested regard to the wel- 
fare of lus slave. 



lendar (Htfd., Conn.) 
:3, 1845, p. 135. col. 

T A r, c, I t /. o v, 1 



The Ca 

Aug. 23, 1845, p 



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1845 

Acertnin getHlemun of lii->h iinmc in ih«' trans- 
ci'iuli-ninl world, was invited lodcliver annddnss 
before one of the college wxielies ; and he carri- 
ed Ins nndienre, ronslxMnc we suppose of the 
cream of New England onliixloxy, down into the 
very depihs of his Mysieni, and for an hour or 
more, regaled them with llie most spli-iniiri, and 
dreamy, and unintelligible upcrulalion*, lo which 
ihcy had ever listened. Shortly niter, an aged 
minister, who had ne\er lhcd in any other than 
a world of common sense realities, was called 
u|K>n to pray, and he devoutly thanked (iod that 
the Itihle which he had eiven us was worth 
more than all the ideulisin and tran-cemli nialisin 
in the world. If wc were di»|K)scd to be a lill^i 
critical, we mijjht perhaps say that there seems 
to ns lo have been sotncthitiy somewhat out of 
tu»ir in this whole matter. In the firM place, it 
w as a little old. to say llir least, that uu indi\ idual 
-IhuiM be invited to sticlt an exercise in sncli n 
/■li/rr, who, Iiowcmt t'loiiiient and gifted, was 
known lo live and move, ami ha\c his being in 
irimseendi ntiili-ni. Then again, we ihink it 
would have been al lea.sl a line spt'cimeii of the 
drcoroiis and lining, if the orator could have so 

far conde-ceiided loll rdinurv style of llcsh 

and hliNid. ;i* to have lalked to his iiudii ore a I tout 
thuii's tin y wonhl have nndersio<«l and relished, 
rtilher lhati a\ ail himselfofihe op|>oruiiiiiy which 
ihcircourlcsy hud furnished him. of hearing them 
nil" into iIh it nil iiirnunilit of hi> own svslein. 
\nil last of all. we do not think there was an\ 
i m i >» of ^ I ta»le in i lie rebuke that was ad- 
ministered in ihc pravcr; for it iiiii^i have pro- 
inked a Mtiile in some, and ni least have mis- 
|m n.lt i I i In- devotion of all. Such an on itrreiu e 
eoulil noi tail lo ollitiil ngmiM 1 1 it dicuilN and 
iiitiiiM of the lUTa-ion wilh which it was con- 



N.Y. Daily Tribune , 1-22-46 

p. 4 The Prejudice ot Color. 

Our .readers will remember the announcement 
made tome time age In The Tribune that R&Lrn 
Waldo Emerson and Chihlii Buhner bad re- 
futed to address the New Bedford Lyceum, on the ground 
that Colored Persona were excluded from iu privilege*. 
We have now the pleasure of laying before our reader^ 
the manly letter* In wblcb thote gentlemen made known 
the determination to which they were eonatrainod by 

that sense of Juatice which a) way* prevail* with noble- 
mind* over the suggestions of a timid and self-seeking 
expediency. Aa examples of a faithful adherence to 
their highest convictions In clrcumttancaa well caloula- 
tad to try their moral oourage, these letters are honora- 
ble alike to the beads and heart* of their authors and 
will soeure for them the thank* of all liberal minded 
men and the ble**loga of thousand* whose hearts hare 
been pierced by the shaft* of an unreasonable and cruel 
Prejudice 

—We commend the fsols staled by Mr. Sumner In ro- 
tation to the treatment awarded to People of Color In 
other countries to the special notice of the Editor of 
7** Glass, whose ' Democratic' sensibilities were so 
shocked lately by the protence of soveral persons be- 
longing to tbls proscribed clue (not Slave* mind I) In a 
Railroad Car. 

—By the way ; We received a letter some time since 
complaining of our former remark* on thle subject, and 
defending the decision of the N. B. Lyceum because (aa 
the writer urged) i*< Ckurcku have Negro Pew* and 
don't allow colored persons to use seats indtaerimlnate- 
ly although they are willing te p y for them. Our an- 
swer to this Is very crusty i The Church Is a model for 
the World In so far an the Is guided by absolute Right- 
eouscea* ; when she falls short of the highest standard, 
the World la bound to excel her, but haa no right to 
plead her apoatacy In palliation of It* own misdeed*. — 
Think of Christ preaching to a congregation of which a 
•art were deaplaed and placed in a corner on account of 
the color of their *kln* t Would be not manifestly have 
reproved tats iniquity to begin with t— But read the let- 



34 

tar* : Concobd, Not. 17, 1813. 

W- J. Rotch. Esq Secretary— 

Piar Sir t If 1 come to New Redf ord. I should be rea- 
dy to Ox. say the in: Tuesday of Mareb. tnd the second. 
But 1 have lo **y. that 1 have iu.1irer.1y received a report 
of aome proceeding* in your Lyceum, lately, which, by 
excluding other*. 1 think ought to exclude me. My In- 
formant *aid that the appllcauuu uf a culured person for 
membership by purchase ot a ticket Iu ibe usual man- 
ner, bad been rejected by a vote of the Lyceum , and 
this, for the tirat lime. Now,n i thiok the Lyceum exist* 
for popular educslion. a* I work In it lor that, sod think 
that It should bribe and Importune the humhleat anil most 
Ignorant to come in, and exclude nobudy, or, if any body, 
oertaioly the most cultivated— thl* voiu quite embaV- 
ra**e* me, an'l 1 should nut know bow ui apeak to the 
company. Bealdea, In It* direct counteraction to live ob- 
vious duty and BLoitment of New England, and of all 
freemen In regard to the colored peop e, the vote ap- 
peare so unkind, and ao unlooked tor. that 1 could not 
oome with any pieaaure betore the Society. 

If I am misinformed, will you— If tbey are printed — 
have the goodoeaa to aend me tbe proceedlnga , or, if 
■ot printed, their purport i aud oblige. 

Your* respectfully, H. W. EMERSON. 

Boston, Nov 09, 184S. 
~ it f Dior S& : I have received your favor of Nov. 
Mth, asking ma to appoint an evening In February or 
March, on wblcb to lecture, In pursuance of my promise, 
be/ore the New Bedtord Lyceum. 

On receiving the invitation of your Lyceum, I felt list, 
tared by the honor conferred po me, and, in uudertak- 
tax, a* I did, to deliver a lecture at some time lo be ap- 
pointed afterward. 1 promised myself peculiar pleasure 
m an occasion of visiting a town wblcb 1 have never 
teen, bnt wbose reflned hospitality and liberal spirit, aa 
they have been described to me, awaken my warmeat 
Interest. 

Since then, f have aeon in the public print* a Protest, 
purporting to be signed by several gentlemen, well 
known to me by reputation, membera of tbe Lyceum, 
and aome of them a part of its Ooveroment, from wblch 
it appears that. In psst years, tickets of admission to the 
Lyceum were freely sold to colored person*, and that no 
Objection wa* made tu tbem aa membera ; but that, at 
tbe preaent time, ticket* are reluaed to colored per*on*, 
and membership ot the Lyceum la alao prar ticully re- 
fused to them, though, by a *pecinl votn recently adopt- 
ed, ihey are allowed to attend tho lecturea without ex- 
pense, 'provided Ihey will alt In the North Oallery. ' 

from these fact*, It appear* that the New Dediord Ly- 
ceum ha* receotly undertaken to establish, wlthiu lu 
Jurisdiction, a distinction of casta whlcb had not been 
there recognized belure 

One of trie cardinal truths, both of religion and free- 
dom, la Ou kguaiilf and Bruiiurkood of if an In the aight 
of Ood, and ot all Juat inatiiutlooa, Uje white mau can 
claim no precedence or exclusive privilege from hi* 
eotor. It is ' the accident of ao accident' tost place* t 
human soul beneath tbe dark shelter of au African coun- 
tenance, rather than beooatb our colder compluxion. 
Nor can I conceive any application of tbe banlgn Injunc- 
tion, do unto other* a* ye would have thorn do unto you, 
more pertinent than to the white mun, wbe found* a dl*. 
erimluatloa between his lellow men on a difference of 
akin. 

It la well known that tbe prejudice of color, which 1* 
akin to the stern and selfish spirit that holds a fellow-man 
In slavery, is peculiar to our country. All will remem- 
ber the two youtha of African blood, who gained the 
bit* heat honor* in the College at Paris In tho winter of 
1838. and dined on the same day with the Ring of France, 
the descendant of flu Looia, and of Loots the Great, at 
the palace of tho Tnilleriae. la Parts. I have act for 
week*, at tho School of Law, on the aame bench*)* with 
colored person*, listening, like myaelf, to tho learned 
lecture* of Degerande, and of Rossi ; nor do I remember 
observing, In the throng of sensitive young men by 
whom they were surrounded, nay feeling toward them 
except of companionship and respect in Italy, at the 
Convent of Palozzuola, on tbe shores of the Alban Lake, 
and on the alto of the ancient Alba Long*. I have seen 
tor several daya a native of Abyssinia, only receotly con- 
ducted from his torrid home, and lgoorant of the lan- 
guage that wa* spoken about him. yet mingling with the 
Franciscan Friars, wboae guest he was In dellghtlul and 
affectionate familiarity. In these examplea may be dis- 
cerned the proper Influence uf tbe Christian spirit. 

In lecturing before a Society, whlcb baa embodied tbe 
prejudice or color among iu lawa, aud thus formally ro- 
veraed an Injunction ot tbe highest religion and politics, 
I might aeem to lend my aancUnn to what la moat alien 
ao my soul, and to Join with them In dlsobodlence to 
that command which teaches u* lo regard a* of one 
blooriull tbe children of tbu earth: ' 

• Quamvle lllo nlger, quamvl* tu oandldu* eeae* I' 

I cannot do thle. 

1 beg leave, therefore, to be exenaad at pr**ant from 
appointing a day on which lo lecture belore your Lyce- 
um, and I pray you to lay ihla lutter before the Lyoeurn, 
that they may underatand tbu ground* on whlcb 1 deem 

II my duty to decline the honor of *ppuarlng before 
J^nm . 

.1 bnpo you will pardon the frankness of tola commu- 
nication, and believe me. my dear air. 

Very faithfully your*. 

ouarLes aoMMia. 

W. i. Eavfaat, sCaaj. 



1846 




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1846 

denborg — some of Ihein nntruo — other* intro- 
duced in such a manner a* could not fiiil to pro- 
duct' n fttlar Impression oil the minds «f hn> 
audience, — lull Irom the lips of one to whom J 
owe so much, nnd for whom I entertain a strong 
nrt'eclion. 1 have no idon that Jfr. Emerson 
had the leaal inii'nti«Ml of domy; 8wc deiihiiig 
any injustice, or ia now nwnic of hnvinjr done 
ar>. lie nt loo amiable, sincere, iirnl honest n 
man for that. But his peculiar Ideological 01 
atiti-tllt'olngicol bins is such ns nhvinnsly to in- 
capacitate him for judging justly of Swedenborg 
aa a thfvlnniiin. He did him ample justice as a 
philosopher. We huve never heard higher praise 
bestowed on him from any quarter. And yet il 
w s not tup high ; it whs nil deserved. For 
this all the receivers of Swedcnbnr^'s doctrine* 
must feel thankful. But no amount of praise 
bestowed on the philosopher can atone for the 
injustice done to the theologian. 

Mr. Emerson evidently has a strong aversion 
to theology of any kind. He seems not to be 
aware tint there is a true and a false theology ; 
and Unit the region of the true is the very high, 
est region of human thought. He seems to huve 
little or no reverence for the written Word ol 
God, which is the basis ol nil Christian systems 
of theology. And as Swedenborg mnkeg so 
mucA of the Word — as his first and lust appear 
is to the Scripture at to an infallible standard ol 
truth in religious matters — as his entire, theo- 
logical, system is drawn from and based upon 
the written Word, which he regards as inspir- 
ed in the highest and fullest sense, il is not 
strange that ono who has little or no reverence 
for the Word, and who indeed docs not believe 
in any thing like a special revelation, which 
seems to be the case with Mr. Emerson, should 
see much to oflject to in Swedcnborg's theolog- 
ical bias. The latter, regarding the Scripture 
as divinely inspired and holy in every part — as 
the Word of God without any qualification — and 
the greater part of his theological labors hav- 
ing been devoted to the unfolding ol k its * pintuol 
and true sense, we see not how it is possible for 
any one to see him truly or judge him justly, 
who surveys him from Mr. Emerson's peculiar 
stand-point. 

" What have we to do,'' Jasked the lecturer, 
" with arks and tabernacles, with heave-osTer- 
ings and altars of incense, with urim and thurn- 
mim,'with shew-bread and sacrificial rains," etc 
&c ? Sure enough — if these things hare none 
other than a mkreUj natural or literal signification 
But did not Mr. E. know thai Swedenborg givje's 
n spiritual interpretation to all such things men- 
tioned in the Old Testament ? And that he r>o 
where teaches that we have any thing to do wjth 
them, understood merelyin their literal sense f 
Didjhe not know that the texts, wherein nil such 
things are mentioned, contain according to their 
spiritual sense, as unfulded by Sweedonhorg, 
laws of spiritual life— jlaws of universal applica- 
tion — laws which it concerns him, and me, and 
all men to know i And did he not also know 
that the very principle which he look occasion 
to commend so highly in another purt of his ltc- 
ture, as alike beuutiful and true — the principle 
or science of correspondences — it the principle 



35 

employed by Swedenborg in eliciting this spir 
ilual sense ' Mr. Eiperson ought to have kuiown 
this. And if he did not know it, was it quite 
jusl or candid in him to put such an n.trrroga. 
lory to his audience at he did, whereby he 
uiusl have conveyed the impression that Swe- 
denborg teaches that the things ho uuiUioned 
do concern us, understood in their uu-ruly literal 
sense .' 

Hut il was not my intention to write, a c/iti- 
ci«in on Mr. E.'t lecture. Fortunately, that has 
already been done lor more obly than 1 could 
expect to do it. My principal object in notic- 
ing the lecture here, is, to cull attention to tin- 
fact, that a reply to Mr E.'t strictures has just 
been prepared and published by Prof. I|ush of 
New York, in a neat pamphlet form, ixtd <uin be 
had at Meassrs. Burnet: and ('run. ton's Hook- 
stores, and also of Mr. John Prentice. All who 
heard Mr. E.'t lecture will find the able reply 
by Prof. Bush not less interesting ; a.i.l it is to 
be hoped that a sense of justice to themselves 
at well at to Swedenborg and those who receive 
bis doctrines, and a desire to s«o buth suits of 
tins matter, will induce them to precure and 
read tho reply. They will see iiere how Mr 
Rtncrson't atricturet are regarded by these wh 
are probably more familiar with tho writings ol 
Swedenborg than he it, and what real founda- 
tion there it for ihcm. 

1 wish to add, however, in conclusion, thai 
tho good and true things which Mr. E. said 
of Swedenborg in his lecture, were such and so 
many, that I feel more like thanking him for 
these, than like blaming him for his unmerited 
and unjust criticisms on tome pointt. He evi- 
dently <et>ls a profound respect for the Swedish 
Seer — n respect far above that felt by the mul- 
titude. He feels that his writings have been 
too long and too much neglected by the men of 
Christendom, and would gladly be the instru 
ment of making them more extensively known 
and read. It is obvious that the singular mix- 
ture of what appears to him "sense and insanity" 
in his writings, it a problem which Mr. E. does 
not find it very easy to solve to hit own satis- 
faction. But this problem will soon solve it- 
self, when he has obtained, ns we earnestly hope 
he may, a little deeper insight into these won- 
derful writing*. The strange mingling of Bense 
and insanity which he now tees, will be no 
longer visible. He will then discover that the 
apparent insanity arose either from some defect 
of vision in himself, or from a want of a proper 
focal dislonce between hit own eye and the ob 
ject of vision. •"• 



1848 

to mcDtion " p. book of De Foe's, called An Enay 
on Projects," nnd " Dr. Mather's, called An Essay 
to do Good," and where, too, his lamp (or more 
probably his caudle's end) was " oft seen ol mid- 
night hour, " as he sat up the greatest part of the 
night devouring the boohs which his Irieud, tbe 
bookseller's nppreutico, used to lend him over 
night, out of the shop, to bo returned the next 
morning. How the rogue must have enjoyed them ! 
Seldom have literary pleasures been relished with 
such a gust, as by that hungry boy. 

When I say " rogue," 1 use the term meta- 
physically and not literally. I mean " no scandal 
about Queen Elizabeth," nor do I allude to any of 
the gossip of sixty years since. But I shall never 
forget the shock given to my early prejudices, and 
tho bou lev ersement of all'my preconceived ideas at 
hearing, when I was boy, a very celebrated gen- 
tleman, distinguished in the field and in the caln 
net, whose public life was mostly of the last centu- 
ry, say in a careless manner, as if it were the 
tritest truism in the world he was uttering, *■ Wl 
madam, you know Franklin was mi old rascal ! 
He added, some specifications, which I do not now 
remember, but tho amount was that he had 
feathered his nest well at the public expenne 
Franklin was no saint in his private life, bihI h<" 
never pretended to be one ; but I believe is is now 
pretty well understood that he was " indifferent 
honest," ns Hamlet says, in his public life, ami that 
Prince Posterity has dismissed the charges pie 
ferred by some of his contemporaries, against his 
political hondsty. 

It will not be many years before this monument 
of the moot celebrated man that Boston, not to env 
America, ever produced, will bo demolished, anil 
the place that knows it will know it no more, un- 
less something bo done to snve it. It will be a 
burning shame and a lasting disgrace to Huston, 
with ufl its wealth and its pretensions to liboral • . 
Hid in ull'ectntion of reverence lor its great men 
to sutler the most historical of its houses to he de 
stroyed, when the rise in real estate in thut neigh 
borhood shall seal its doom. It is a shame that it 
has been lelt so long to take the chances of bu»i- 
nets. It should have been bought years ago, and 
placed in the hands of the Historical Society, or 
some other permanent body, in trust, to be pre 
served forever, in its original condition. It is no! 
too Into to restore it to something like its lirst es 
tate. and to save it from utter deRtruction. II it he 
not done, it will be a sonrce of shame aud sorrow 
when it is too late. 

The house in which Franklin was born has bei n 
destroyed within this century, — to the infinite dis 
credit of the rich men of the " Literary Emporium 
of the New World"— as the great K.ean christened 
it, when it was in the bight of its delirium in the 
" Kesn Fever." That house stood in Milk st. a 
little below the Old South Church, on the other 
tide of the way, and the spot is marked by a 
" Furniture Warehouse," five stores hieh, which 
forms a fitting pendant to the Bonnet Warehouse, 
in Hanover-st. The printing office of James Frank- 
lin, where Franklin served his apprenticeship, 
where ho used to put his anonymous cunmiuniuu- 
tlcns undor the door, where he used to study when 
the rest were gono to dinner, and whero he used 
sometirnss to get a Hogging lrom his brother— 
(" perhaps I was too saucy and provoking," be ; u 
candidly, end with frent probability, says ol hii . 
self.) James's printing-olllce was m Clue en mow 
Court) street, nearly opposite tho Court house, i I 
the comer ol Franklin Avenue, which, il 1 u.n net 
mistaken, derives its nama from this circuni- 
stance. D Y 

N.Y. Dally Tribune . 
3-9-47, Suppl., p. 2. 



Franklin— the Home of his Boyhood. 

The racy description which follows of the house 
which was the home of Benjamin Franklin's 
'boyhood will be read with universal interest, not 
only in this country bat throughout the civilized 
world. It is copied from the Boston correspond- 
ence of the National Anti-Slavery Standard: 

And I would have given a triflo to know which 
of the chambers it was that was Franklin's own, 
where he educated himself, as it wore, by stealth. 
Where he used to read *' Bunyan's works, in sepa- 
rate little volumes," — and Barton's Historical Col- 
lections. — " small chapman's books, nnd cheap ; 
forty volumes in all," — and Plutarch's Lives — not 



Emerson In h oaland. 

Oar eminent ooaotryman has, at tome of our 
readers may be aware, been tpending the put six 
montht in Oreat Britain. He hat there been 
lecturing with much success: in the first place in 
Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and tbs Urge towns 
In tbelr neighborhood ; afterward la Edinburgh, Glasgow. 
Dundee, and Important places la Scotland. 

Ia Manchester bs lectured at tbe Athesaam, as also st 
the Mechanic*' Institute, where he was heard by tbe larg- 
est audieDce ever collected before that Institution. Ills 
lectures were fully reported In the papers of that City- I j 
iplte'of a little dissent tbe verdict was very encoumglng 
for tbe progress of free opinion in that part of Englard. In 



1848 

Manchester ha was Invited 10 oue of the loireet (u they 
■rs there teimed) of the Alhaneum, whore he took part in 
tie proceedings with Condon, Alison and others, and his 
speech was fully reported In the London Horning Chronicle. 
This address drew out a warm welcome to him contained 
in lb* next number of tb,» IFeifnu'nsfer Retina, Be also 
lectured before the Koscoe Associatioii at Liverpool, with 
the decided approbation of the audience. Be was rocclved 
with the like applause by the Intelligent audience* of 
neighboring town*. 

In 8cutlaud,and especially iu Edinburgh, be was re- 
ceived with the utmost enthusiasm, and met with the 
moat eminent men of tbat cfty. A ourluns Incident lllut 



36 

tratlng " the mureh of Intellect," took place bifoia his 
lecture In Ellnburgh. Be bad agreed to be at I o'clock, 
P. M. at the Lecture Hoom.but owing to some error he 
missed the train or tbat hour. A mmsag> was instantly 
acnt by Telegraph (from Newcastle, ws think,) asking the 
Looture Committee to detain the audience for half an 
hour, and taking the next train which lift, tho euJIcnoe 
woro aotua.il>' kept walling but ittniiteen miuutes. 
MualJo the anlclo on Kineraon In Mackuiood, there have 

N.Y. Weekly Tribune . 
4-15-48, p. 6. 



1848 

been eillcloe In HowUCi Journal (with a portrait) by 
Ouodwln liar tub) . a Cooin ml.t leader ; also In Tail i F.i 
Ulurnh Hugaiiue by Oilflllan, a floolob Minister, who 
calls Kmoreon the •' ('omit g man," (coming to l'.JInburch.) 
and oilier loss Important articles i uloo In fiance, oue In 
Hie Revue Indrptiidante by Daniel Steon, (a Countess In 
faot,) and one (a very good one) in the Revue dee Deux 
Monjti, both of which are l'arla Journals. In fact, It Is no 
doubt irue (u tlllflllan says) that Emerson's Kisays 1* a 
houaeho d book in Great ll'llaln, however It may b» lo 
the Unitnd States. We are t;lad to hoar of the merited 
sucensa ol any countrymen ot ours abruaJ. and rcloice that 
Ktnerson's has been most oomplete. Ue has mot with 
nothing hut the kindest and rube ai appreciation. 



A Liaaon lor Vounat I'orlx. 

We are continually receiving letters from 
young gentlemen who deem themselves born to 
enlighten the world in some way— to 'strike 
the sounding lyre,' or from the Editorial tri- 
pod dispense wisdom and guidance to an in- 
structed and admiring world. These generally 
want to know why they cannot be employed in 
our establishment, or find a publisher for 
their poems, or a chance in some shape to as- 
tonish mankind and earn a livelihood by let- 
ters.— To this large and increasing class, 
we wish to propound one question: 'Suppose 
all who desire to live by Literature or 
Trade could find places, who would hoe the 
needful corn or dig the indispensable pota- 
toes?'— But we purposed in beginning to ask 
their attention to the following extract 
from a private letter we have just received 
from a very different sort of literary youth 
— a thorough classical scholar, true poet 
(though he rarely or never wrote verses,) and 
never sought to make a livelihood by his 
writings, though there are not six men in 
America who can surpass them. We feel indeed 
honored by his friendship, and in the course 
of a private letter we have just received 
from him he casually says: 

"For the last five years, I have supported 
myself solely by the labor of my hands. I 
have not received one cent from any other 
source; and this has cost me so little time- 
say, a month in the Spring and another in the 
Autumn— doing the coarsest work of all kinds, 
that I have probably enjoyed more leisure 

for literary pursuits than any contemporary. 
For more than two years past, I have lived 
alone in the woods, in a good plastered and 
shingled house entirely of my own building, 
earning only what I wanted, and sticking to 
my proper work. The fact is, Man need not 
live by the sweat of his brow — unless he 
sweats easier than 1 do— he needs so little. 
For two years and two months, all my ex- 
penses have amounted to but 27 cents a week, 
and I have fared gloriously in all respects. 
If a man must have money— and he needs but 
the smallest amount— the true and independent 
way to earn it is by day-labor with his hands 
at a dollar a day. I have tried many ways 
and can speak from experience. 

"Scholars are apt to think themselves privi- 
leged to complain as if their lot were a pe- 
culiarly hard one. H w much have we heard 



about the attainment of knowledge under diffi- 
culties—of poets starving in garrets — of lit- 
erary men depending on the patronage of the 
wealthy, and finally dying mad] It is time 
that men sang another song. — There is no 
reason why the scholar, who professes to be a 
little wiser than the mass of men, should not 
do his work in the ditch occasionally, and, 
by means of his superior wisdom, make much 
less suffice for him. A wise man will not be 
unfortunate. How otherwise would you know 
that he was not a fool?" 

— We trust our friend will pardon the liber- 
ty we have taken in printing the foregoing, 
since we are sure of effecting signal good 
thereby. We have no idea of making a hero of 
him. Our object is simply to shame the herd 
of pusillanimous creatures who whine out their 
laziness in bad verses, and execrate the stu- 
pidity of publishers and readers who will not 
buy these maudlin effusions at the paternal 
estimate of their value, and thus spare them 
the dire necessity of doing something useful 
for a living. It is only their paltriness 
that elevates our independent friend above the 
level of ordinary manhood, and whenever they 
shall rise to the level of true self-respect, 
his course will be no longer remarkable. 

•What J' says one of them, 'do you mean that 
every one must hoe corn or swing the sledge* — 
that no life is useful or honorable but one of 
rude manual toil?' — No, Sir; we say no such 
thing. — If any one is sought out, required, 
demanded, for some vocation specially intel- 
lectual, let him embrace it and live by it. 
But the general rule is that Labor — that labor 
which produces food and clothes and shelter- 
is every man's duty and destiny, for which he 
should be fitted, in which he should be will- 
ing to do his part manfully. But let him study, 
and meditate, and cultivate his nobler facul- 
ties as he shall find opportunity; and when 
ever a career of intellectual exertion shall 
open before him, let him embrace it if he be 
inclined and qualified. But to coin his 
thoughts into some marketable semblance, dis- 
dain useful labor of the hands because he has 
a facility of writing, and go crying his men- 
tal wares in the market, seeking to exchange 
them for bread and clothes — this is most de- 
grading and despicable. Shall not the world 
outgrow such shabbiness? 

N.Y. Daily Tribune , 5-25-48 



1848 

9AI.GH LYCEUM.. 

Mr T bcirsu, of Cotiw-rd, govj Ms eu- 
ilituij a lcturo on Wednesday cveutajf, 
Biifli'.'icntly L\<eiv>uf:n to h«vq coma from 
thu gfor! i>lii!<,r-',i.'ii>r himself. Wo v.ere 
rciniiuluJ of Etnoreon eouiiiiualljr. In 

thought, Hylo Cv defircry, tiro similarity wfi« 
equally obvi.ou* Triors wm tho Mino keen 
philosophy running through him, the rr.tuo 
jutting forth of " hrillisrit edge* of moan- 
ing " •> GilfiHan has it. ('fen in Lno« of 
voice, Emerson was brought strikingly to 
Ilia ear; and in personal spjicarnnee also, 
rre fancicJ aotiie little rtsembUoca. Tlia 
cloec 1 1 k t: 1 1 - 6 * between the l»o woulJ oj- 
tnoM justify a chmge of plagiar'tum, were it 
not that Mr Thoreiiu'a lecture furnished 
ample pioof of being a native product, hy af- 
fording uil the charm of an original. Kaiher 
lh.n an imitation u) I'mrraoa, it woj the 
unfolding of e. like mod with hia ; as i( the 
two men hnj gioisti in the samo toil and 
un.k-r ilia Mine culture. 

TIk reanW may remember baring re- 
cently ate an amefe front the N.Y.TrnV 
line dr*;ril>mg ll« rcclute life led \tj a 
>'l.olor, T»h>i iu;Y"ite«l hunarll by manual 
la.Hjr, ami on a regime which cost only ttttn- 
l;i iroen tinii 1 irret, making il iKrr««rj to 
Ithor but «n »eeks<» provide anrlicient el 
the neceoiartea o; life to serve the halar.ee of 
the ymr. Mr Tliore4it if the hero ia! iut 
etory — oltlmugh lie claims »o heroism, eon- 
trJer.nj! hirri;-clf Mm; I) at tin ec-xioinut. 

The it.bjecl ■/! 'his lecture wn Economy, 
ilhiDtriceJ by I'.n! experiment mentioned.— 
This »iti!'i« in an edrouoblo uonner, iu 
a uriiMi of exquisite humor, with a strong 
under current of delicate satire ogsiast the 
folliee - of tho lime?. Tlientl^rc wer* imcr- 
fpersed observation*, fcfwcululions, and sug- 
gestions upin drrss.foslnons, fond, dwelling,, 
Jurniiure, fir. J,c . mfficiently queer m keep 
tbji oudien.ee in almost con-tnnt mirth, and 
•uffici-yjlly wijc nnd new lo nlhird many 
gooj practical liinu onrl rnecopt?. 

The performance bu* crcjted " quite a 
aeiiff^uoo " amongst tin Lyceum gocre. 

Salem Observer, 
11-25-48 



Mr. Tiiok£au, of ConcorJ, delivered a 
second lecture on Wednesday evening upon 
his life in the woods. The first lecture was 
upon the economy of that life; this was 
upon its object nnd aomc of its enjoyments. 
Judging from the remarks which we have 
heard concerning it, Mr. Thoreau wns evet> 
Ip.o «•!<.»•"'■••• <"'S tunc in suiting all, 
than on the former occasion. The divcr- 
«ily of opinion is quite amusing. Some 
persona ore unwilling to speak of his lec- 
ture ns any better than " torn-foolery and 
nonsense," while others thinlc they per 
ccived, beneath the outward sertse of his 
remarks, something wise nnd valuable. It 
is undoubtedly true that Mr. Thoreau's 
style is rather loo allegorical for a popular 
audience. He ,; peoples the solitudes" of 
the woods too profusely, and gives voices 
to their " dim aisles" not recognized by 
the larfjer part ol common ears. 

Some ports of this lecture— which on 
the whole we thought less successful tlnn 
the former one — were generally admitted 



37 

to be excellent. He cave a well-considered 
defence of classical literature, in connection 
with some common sense remarks upon 
books; and also some ingenious specula- 
tions suggested by the inroads of railroad 
enterprise upon the quiet and seclusion ot 
Walden Pond ; arjd told how he found tlature 
a counsellor and companion, furnishing 

41 Tongues in the (reef, hoot, in itie running lirookt, 
Sffmoiii in itonei, and good In ever) thing." 

We take the purpose of Mr. T.'s lecture 
to have been, the elucidation of the poetical 
view of life — allowing how life may he 
made poetical, the opprehensive imagina- 
tion clothing all things with divine forms, 
nnd gathering from them a divine language. 

•• lie went lo die Rnd« of llie ivoqd 
To tiling llicir word lo men." 

And here we may remark thai the public 
are becoming more critical. The standard 
of Lyceum lectures has been raised very 
considerably within a few years, nnd lectu- 
rers who would have given full satisfaction 
not long since, arc " voted bores " nt pres- 
ent. This ia cortainly n good indicniinn, 
and shows that Lyceums have accomplished 
an important work. Wc doubt if twenty 
years ago such lecturers as professors 
Agassi/, Ciuyon, and Rogers, would nave 
been appreciated by popular nudienccs. — 
But now they instruct and delight great 
multitudes. 

In.rcgnrd to Mr. Thorrnii, we nro glad to 
lien r ihnt lie la about l«-ulny r hook, which 
will eutiialn lh»a« lectures, and will enable 
na perhaps tojttd^c better of their merit. 

Salem Observer , 3-3-49 



1849 



>ln Kuerscin'8 Ltcn in. iis England. In 
hJN recent leciure in New York Mr Emerson 
lhu> summed up the causes Dud elfinenl. id the 
^underfill prosperity and riches ol Enghiiid : 

1st. The ihmate. It i< n working clinmh- - 
nni iim lint in summer, in r u>u told in winter. 

2d. 1 I •' r dense pnpulntiiin. 

3d. The existence ol a Infill "'"I superior i :,••- 
i.f educated and cultiv.iled men, l»->i-'' ' ol '"' 
luiie, leisure, and ease. 

4th. To the diet id the people. I In V ire tj-od 
leider-j iheir bodies, are ml ust, rniiintl. »"«• 

sir.. i p.' Even Hie old men hav s> clif« k» ami 

I, ink tonne Yet, as Mr li. was iiilnrn.r.l, 
Ihouijh iarficr and Li^'-er men than Americans 
the skeletons were m-t bir-;i r. Erju, it is i.wini- 
in the leedimj and elimuie, and bahiis "I r-iei 
cise in open air. 

5th. To the icnacilr, eontmuntis Blteul.nii I- 
one p.nnt, and perseverance, ol the t.glisli m 
their pursiiiis. 

6th. lo Iheir fine ninml qualities t)l these . 
Mr Emers-ui drew a pieHUn- and aim il.le p.. lure 
Uivm- the English credit b-r ..■leelue-s ..I frclinit, 
honesiy, kindness ol inami' r and behaviour, gmu. 
breeding, and finished educutioti. 




1849 

Bmereon'e Plat*. 

Correspondence of The Tribune. 

Boston, Jiin. 5, 1P4H. 
Diir Tribune : Two or three weeki ago I lit- 
totted to the spirit-stirring cadcncat of Emerson. I In 
toetored upon Plito, before a select audience, In the 
eharch of Rev. June* Freeman Clark. The audience 
wet tnch aa we bare in Boston — only In Boston. It 
Waa composed of persona subdurd to Intellectual dVvo- 
Uoa by tbe apostolic preaching of Mr. Clark, softened 
l.ta the asperity engendered by competitor; Ufa by 
the) benign eloquence of William Henry Cbannloc. and 
BOW kindled to a strange Intellectual life by the inspi- 
ring muse of Emerson. It would hare done yonr heart 
good to hare looked upon this audience— such laelal 
angles, aoftened by the angelic tonch of purity of 
thought, of Inspired faith, of earnest endeavor. 

Plato, said Emerson, Is philosophy, and philosophy Is 
Plato. In him, too, are found the auroral beams of 
Christianity ; and bore is foreoaat the Koran of Mo- 
hammed. Everybody nods his peculiar taate gratified 
la Plato; to the French he la Parisian, to the Oerman 
Teutonic. In this respect he Is like Helen of Arson. 
whose beauty made everybody that saw her feel rela- 
ted to her. It la remarkable that uncertainty exists as 
to the authenticity of tome of the writings of genius— 
of Homer, of Plato and Sbaktpeare. Tbla is because 
these great minds magnetised and assimilated to th-m 
aelvee those about them, and thua each lived In severe) 
bodies. It Is said that Plato plagiarised. " It is only 
the Inventor who knows how to borrow j" and the stu- 
pendous genius of Plato could not but absorb nil the 
learning of tbe times. Auother merit of Plsto was, 
that, being a philosopher, he was something beyond, 
be was a poet. A man to attain perfection in any 
department, muat atand on higher ground than that 
be wor&a upon. Tbe biography of Plato la short. — 
Bo U that of all genlusea ; it Is written In their 
hooka : and in the painting of Plato's pen, we are 
to look for the portraits of his family and the pictures 
of his home. Plato was a patrician by birth ; In earry 
life had an Inclination for war, but was arrested by the 
persuasion of Socrates, with whom he remained frnm 
tbe age of 20 till 30. Then Plato traveled to Italy, to 
Egypt, to Babylon, it is said , and. returning from his 
tour, instituted his celebrated Academy at Athens, and 
Anally died in the act of writing, at the age of 81 years. 
The writings of Plato are ever young, ever modern : 
for in them exists, in tbe germ, the Europe of our day 
This is the test of genius ; Is it ever young, never out 
grown by any pasasgo of time 7 Emeraon said : All 
ontology existed in two departments— nnlty and vs. 
rlety. By prayer, by religion we soar to unity, having 
communion with God. Henoe the religions and en- 
lightened man can never be selfish ; he has felt the 
Nving aense of his being In Qod. and the same Ood la 
everything about him; "the words / and mint constl. 
tnte ignorance.'' To the religious, " form Is Imprison- 
ment/' "that which the soul seeks Is resolution Into 
being above form " — "emancipation from organization." 
Plato learned In Asia thla religion, which ever gms 
back from the varied irradiation of the one to Its cen- 
tral being, lie also possessed Italian Intellect and art, 
to trace his way back again from tho one to tho dlilu 
tlon of variety. " lie shall bo aa a god to me. aald 
Plato, who can rightly divide and derlue." " When 1 
eaa, he said, one who can soa tho whole and the parts, 
1 tread on his steps Ilka those of a god." Devutlon, 
says Emerson, bathos In the central snollgbt of the 
one ; Art represents the one by variety ; Intellect traces 
and detects the one and the ssme In Its variety Hell 
(Ion, Art, Intellect— all theae bad Plato. "H* united 
the freest poetry with the most exact geometry ;" 
" his energy of thought was tike the momentum of the 
falling planet, hla discretion like Its return to the curve." 
Plato believed In preternatural faculties. He knew, 
too, that the sublime essence of all being is beyond the 
stretch of human ten. But In this respect, Emerson 
criticised Plato: Though Immense of vision, he had 
Platunlaed the subjects of bis thought* and " fixed hla 
eopy- right upon the world." But It Is the creation ol 
Ood and not of Plato, and no partial intelligence ran 
expound It, except to the limits ol a finite understand 
Ing, and with the coloring of an Imperfect mind, ria- 
to, moreover, was too eqasl, too complete ; you are 
never in his writings startled and thrilled by " the 
eereera of the prophet." or the swaying force of the 
unlettered Arab. " Socrates and Plato," aald Emeraon. 
■ are the double star which bo instrument baa been able 
entirely to separate." It was a bappy thing that Socra- 
tes, ' the wlte >Esop of the mob,' yot so honest and en. 
ttaualaatlc in religion, early impressed Plsto, and took a 
lasting position in the foreground of bis mind." 

Thus I have snatched away for you, dear Trihvnt, a 
few gems from the discourse of Emeraon. Hot as I 
csnnoi transmit to you the music of hla modulation to 
wh.ch they are set, you can but dimly parrels their 
louldaxiltog fascination. Emerson's style of soeech. 
would warrant for him another fable like that o| tb« 
boas who clustered upon the Upa of Plato in hla 
cradle. r y p 

N.Y. Tribune, 1-8-49, p. 4 



38 

EL DORADO OF GOLD. 

John G. VVhittier communicates the an- 
nexed interesting article to the National Era. 
It will be seen that he contemplates the rush 
to our Pacific coast, with the feelings inspired 
by both history and poetry. Speaking of the 
Spanish discovery of Peru, he writes : 

It is well worth while, just now, to recur 
to the statements of the Spanish and English 
adventurers touching this remarkable coun- 
try. Don Lopez, in his " General History 
of the Indies," written in the sixteenth cen- 
tdry, says, in describing the court of its mo- 
narch, that " all the vessels of his house, ta. 
ble, and kitchen, were of gold and silver. 
He had, besides, great giant statues of gold, 
and figures of all manner of birds and beasts, 
and fishes, and trees, and herbs, all of gold ; 
also ropes, budgets, chests, and troughs, of 
gold and silver. Besides, the Incas had a 
pleasure garden in the island of Puna, where 
they went to recreate themselves, and take 
the sea air, which had all kinds of herbs and 
flowers of gold and silver" 

Sir Walter Raleigh, in his " History of 
the Discovery of Guiana," informs his read- 
ers, that notwithstanding the repeated and 
persevering efforts of many daring adven- 
turers, only one person had ever reached the 
Golden City. One John Martinez, being, for 
some misdemeanor in the army of ihe Spa- 
niards, condemned to be executed, begged to 
be allowed the chance for life afforded by be- 
ing put into a canon in the Great River, 
without sail or oar, and left to drift at the 
mercy of the current. This was grunted 
him, and ufter floating a long way down the 
stream, he was drawn ashore by the natives, 
who took him to be a visitor from another 
world. They led him to Manoa, the great 
city of their Inca, "where ho was kindly 
treated. After a stay of seven months, the 
Inca dismissed him with as much gold as a 
great troop of his soldiers could carry. But 
it so fell oU', that, just on the borders of ihe 
Inca's kingdom, he was aitaoked by robbers, 
who took all, his gold from him, except two 
gourds full of beads curiously wrought. Af- 
ter this untoward adventure, he wundcred 
down the river un'il he came to a Spanish 
town called Juan de Puerto Rico, where he 
died. To (he priest who administered the 
Sacrament, to him he told his wonderful 
history, and gave his beads for the use of the 
church. The pious father, forthwith, pub- 
lished the lidingsof the great discovery, with 
such additions and embellishments as the cre- 
dulity of the marvel-loving and gold-seeking 
adventurers about him warranted. That 
some of tho worthy Padre's successors in the 
priestly office, at the present day, in that re- 
gion, retain someihing of his story-telling 
gifts, cannot be doubled by any one who has 
read, in the work of our countryman, Ste- 
phens, the marvellous account of a greut na- 
tive city, the living representative of the ar. 
chitectural wonders of Uxmal and Chi-Chen, 
where the race who piled up tho massy py- 



1849 

Protestant Churchman , 
New York, 1-27-49, p. 1 



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1849 

are told that the Country of Gold is found — 
the prize for which the enterprise and cu- 
pidity of oil Europe so long struggled, is 
gained at last. Some wandering stragglers 
from the Mormon camp, it seems, a few 
months ago discovered the shining metal on 
the banks of the American Fork of the Sa- 
cramento ; and now it appears to be satisfac- 
torily ascertained that the groat chain of the 
Sierra Nevada, including its eastern and 
western slopes, from the Great Salt Lake to 
the Pacific, is thickly sown with the precious 
ore. Admitting this to bo iruo, we see no 
reason why the fabulous city of Monoa may 
not And a rival in the future glories of San 
Francisco. 

In the headlong rush towards this new 
fountain of wealth, words of warning will be 
little heeded. Reason and argument are 
wasted on the victims of the mighty tempta- 
tion. What noble resolves, what holy aspi- 
rations, what rational plans of home joy and 
domestic happiness, will yield to its baleful 
enticement? How many calm fire-sides of 
contented and honest industry will it disturb 
and darken ? How will it unsettle the sober 
habitude of thrift, and embitter with envy 
and regret the quiet enjoyment of the fruits 
of daily labor in the field and workshop! 
What a fever will it waken in the already too 
rapid pulses of society ! What madness 
will it infuse intothe already excited and over, 
tasked brain of the new generation ! The 
light which history sheds upon tho conse- 
quonccs of similar acquisitions, on the part 
of Spain and Portugal, is by no means cal- 
culated to lessen the fears which every 
thoughtful friend of his country, and of the 
morul progress of his race, must regard this 
remarkable discovery. 

At the date of the last accounts from Cali- 
fornia, the harvests were left to rot in the 
fields, their owners having all gone to the 
mines, and provisions of all kinds were 
scarce, and commanding the most exorbitant 
prices. Already there was actual suffering 
for food in the midst of gold ; and probably 
long ere this more than one unfortunate ad- 
venturer has looked with more satisfaction 
upon an edible root or fruit than upon his 
hoards of yellow dust, exclaiming, like 
Timon, when faint and Jiungry, after the 
discovery of his golden treasures, 

" Common mother, 
Yield from thy plenteous bosom one poor root." 

Runyan, in his description of the infernal 
regions, describes a covetous woman who had 
spent her life in hoarding riches, condemned 
to the task of swallowing liquid gold, with 
which tho mocking demons were always 
ready to supply her. We can imagine a 
counterpart to Bunyan's picture in some 
luckless digger of the California mines, 
siarving in the midst of his abundance, and 
vainly seeking to barter all his worthless 
gains for an ear of corn or a handful of 
ground-nuts. 

We are reminded in this connection of the 
touching and pathetic lines of the lamented 
Dr. Leyden, the bosom friend of Sir Walter 



39 

Scott, and himself a writer of no ordinary 
power. He visited India with a prospect of 
pecuniary advantage, and died just as the 
prospect was about to be realized. The gold 
which besought for at the expense of home 
and health only mocked the eyes which were 
dim with the shadow of death. The intense 
anguish of soul, under such circumstances, 
is powerfully expressed in the following lines, 
tho sentiment of which, we cannot doubt, will 
find a place in the heart of many a sink and 
dying hunter in the mines of California. 

ODE TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. 

WRITTEN I.N CHERICAL, MALABAR. 

Slave of the Hark and dirty mine ! - 

Wl.ai vanity has brought thee here ? 
How can I love to see thee shine 

So bright, whom I have bought so dear ! 

The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear 
For twilight converse, arm in arm ; 

The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear, 
When mirth and music wont to charm. 

By Cherical's dark wandering streams, 

Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, 
Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams 

Of Teviot loved while still a child, 

Of castled rocks stupendous pil'd 
By Esk or Eden's classic wave, 

Where loves of youth and friendship smil'd, 
Uuctirs'd by thee, vile yellow slave ' 

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memary fade ! 

The perish 'd bliss of youth's first prime, 
That once so bright on fancy play'd, 

Revives no more in after-time; 

Far from my sacred natal clime, 
1 haste to an untimely grave ; 

The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime, 
Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. 

Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light 

Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear ; 
A gentle vision comes by night, 

My lonely, widow'd heart to cheer ; 

Her eyes are dim with many a tear, 
That once were guiding stare to mine: 

Her fond heart throbs with many a fear— 
I cannot bear to see thee shine. 

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, 

I left a heart that lov'd me true ! 
I cross'd the tedions ocean wave, 

To roam in climes unknown and new. 

The cold wind of the stranger blew 
Chill on my withered heart— the grave, 

Dark and untimely, met ray view — 
And all for thee, vile yellow slave .' 

Ha ! com'st thou now so late to raocK 

A wanderer's banish'd heart forlorn, 
Now that his frame the lightning shock 

Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ? 

From love, from friendship, country torn, 
To memory's fond regrets tbe prey, 

Vile slsve, thy yellow dross I scorn ! 
Go mix thee with thy kindred clay ! 



1849 




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W« And sn item of intelligence in the London 
innairer. woriliy of some passing notice, ll is 
as follows : 

A Nsw Club. The Record is scandalised 
althe formation of "The Sterling (..'iub." It 
my» — "Who are the hading n.etnbt m of this 
Sterling Club'' Infidels, Papists, Tractariana, 
Trimmers, Benthamites, speci latora of every 
class, painters, ports, and humourists, are in the 



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1849 

til' liia own opinions, be knew iliai some ot the 
mote recent members would be annoyed at any 
association with his name. But his proposition 
was not received with favor, and the name has 
continued. Stkiiling died the following »ear. 
id. fir was a veiy dear friend not Orliy Ul *■- 
litis Chat-lea Hare, but of John Slum JttiU, o( 
Carlyle, of Fiederic Maurice, with whom he 
vna also connected by their marrying sistew, and 
who is one of the greatest minds in the English 
Church. He knew Coleridge also, "\o whom, 
said he, "1 owe education," and whom Mr. 11. 
does not hesitate to call "the Sovereign of Eng- 



40 
lish thought." Uo ailuiired and loved Amold, 
though he never knew him personally. He was 
a noble character, of inestimable 6oeial worth, 
ca(iable of producing as well as of feeling the 
stnui" i| personal attachment?^" bj i arly friends 
more than he vjas fearful, in consi ijnenre of 
suhsetpient differences of opinion, of being loved. 
He possessed very superior literary powers 
and attainments. Such is the man, whose name 
has been made the recent occasion of no little 
stir in the F.nglish Church. We presume it is 
only an occasion. The real cause is, that the 
view of inspiration which Coleridge and Arnold 



1849 
maintained, and Sterling adopted, and which is 
cherished by Maurice and Haru and others, is 
now clearly perceived lobe leavening the whole 
lump. It is in the Church of England, u is 
among Dissenters, a is in this country aL-o, not 
to be ,>ol rid of. It may be called neology. 
German transcendentalism, Uniiarianisni, and by 
still other names, but it is sure to be the predom- 
inant opinion of thinking, ( Ihristian iiinn. 

W'e suppose that the new "Town and Coun- 
try Club" in this city, received the hint tor He 
establishment Irotn "The Slerline Club." Mr. 
R. VV. Emerson, one of its members, was num- 
bered among the friends of Mr. Sierlmg. 



From the New York Tribune. 
AN ILLUSTRATED CRITICISM. 

The critic of the Boston Post writes most daz- 
zlingly of one of Emerson's delightful lectures. 
We can hardly call it criticism, for he does not 
properly criticize; he plays around the subject like 
a humming-bird round a honeysuckle — he darts at 
it like a fish-hawk after a pike, lie looms up 
like a thunder-cloud, comes down in a shower of 
tinkling sleet, and rolls away like a fire on the 
prairies. He plays with figures of speech like a 
juggler, balancing the sentences on his chin, and 
keeping up six with each hand. His fancy goes 
up like the jet of a fire engine, and comes down 
in a spiral ecstasy, like a Peruvian condor. He is 
a detonating mixture — a percussion cap — a me- 
teoric shower — a spiritual shuttle, vibrating be- 
tween the unheard-of and the unutterable. Like 
a child he shakes his rattle over the edge of Chaos 
and swings on the gates of the Past — and he sits 
like a nightingale in a golden ring, suspended by 
a silver cord from a nail driven into the zenith. 

We cannot resist trying our hand at illustrat- 
ing his description of the lecture — giving f°rnn to 
the writer's phosphorescent fancies. Our attempts 
in this line accompany the text. Mr. Emerson, 
whose splendid profusion of thought and imagery, 
combined with the magnetism of his voice and 
presence, must produce the deepest impression 
wherever he is heard, has probably never imagined 
himself, even spiritually, in positions so remark- 
able. He. will be equally amused with ourself at 
the result. Thus ecstasizes the writer : 

" Yet it is quite out of charac- 
ter to say Mr. Emerson lectures 
— he does no such thintj. He 
drops nectar — he ciurs out 
sparks — he exhales odors — he 
lets «.fT mental sky-rockets and 
fireworks — he spouts fire, and, 
conjuror-like, draws ribbons out 
of his mouth. He smokes, he 




[Originally *PP££ p. 
N#Y . Tribune, 2-0-*" > v 



eared in the 

2. J 




1849 




"^ 



H*» X' 



H. D. Thort>a«*e Re»«r 
A WEEK ON THE OONCOKD ANr>«WKRI')MAd 
BIVKK8 : By Uknbv 1) Tnoaa*o, (pp 413. I'imo 
Boston: Maiiroe &. Co. New-York : U. P. Putnam. 

A NaUfl sifeV book — a fresh, original, thought 
fill work — It Sadly rare in this age of onmiferou 
p«a)rcs>tiea. air. Thoreau'f, if not entirely this, it 
rery near it. In observations of Nature are as 
genial M Nature herself, ami the tones of bis hart 
have an .4Colian sweetness. His reflections are 
always striking, olten profoundly truthful, and his 
•cholastic treasures, though a little too ostenta 
tious'y displayed, are such as the best instructed 
reader will enjoy nnd thank him for. His phi- 
losophy, which is the Pantheistic egotism vaguely 
characterised as Transcendental, does not delight 
m. It seems second-hand, imitative, often ex-| 
aggerated — a bad specimen of a dubious ami dan- 
gerous school. Bat we will speak lirst of the 
staple of the work, 

Mr. Thoreau is a Dative and residentol Concord, 
Mais. — a scholar, a laborer, and in some sort a 
hermit. He traveled somewhat in his earlier 
years (he is still yonng.) generally trusting to his 
own thoughts for company and his walking-cane 
for motive power. It would seem a main poruose 
ot* hi* life to demonstrate how slender tfl Ttnpa*ji 
tssssss'js poverty to a man who pampers ssk ssaaasr 
Arisawwants, and how truly independent ttsUB 
li he who is in no manner th 
r appetites. Of his litful hermit 
w4 have already given some 
K(IW#y Olf ' Week on the Coucord and U< 
W The Concord it a dull, dark, sluggish creek or 
>etty river which runa through the Massachusetts. 
towaj of that name and ia lost in the Merrimac at 
Lo 'fell. On this stroam, Mr. Thoreau and his. 
frisaTfl embarked one Autumn afternoon in a small 
row beat, and rowed or sailed down to the Jam 
near its mouth, thence across by the old Middlesex 
Canal to the Merriniac above Lowell, thence up 
the latter to Hookset, N. fl. where they It-It their 
boat and varied their experience by a pedestrian 
tour through the wild and rugged heart of the 
Oranite State, returning to their boat after a 
weeks absence and retracing their course home- 
ward. They had a tent winch, while boating, 
they pitched in the most inviting and secluded 
•pot — generally a wood, when night overtook 
them — they cooked and served for themselves, only 
approaching the dwellings rarely to purchase milk 
or fruit or bread. Such is the thread of the nar- 
rative : let us give a single specimen of its obser- 
vations of Nature. It if a description of the rum- 
saenaement of their agnatic journey : 

11 (irsdually the village murmur subsided, and we 
seemed to be etnbarkial nn the placid current of our 
dreams, floating Irutii past to future as silently as one 
awakes to fresh morning or evening thoughts. We 
glidod noiselessly down the stream, occasionally driving 
a pickerel from the covert of the pads, or a bream from 
lur, nest, and the smaller bittern now ami then sailed 
away on sluggish wings fruill some recess in the shore, 
or the larger lilted itself out ol the long grass afjour 
approach, ami carried its precious legs away to deposit 
thorn in a place ol safety. The tortoises also, rapidly 



a 

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41 1849 

C&r* Henht D. Thokeau ol Concord, Mass. has 
recently beon lecturing on ' Life in the Woods,' in 
Portland and elsewhere. There is not a young man 
in the land — and very tew old ones — who would 
not profit by an attentive hearing of that lecture. 
Mr. Thoreau is a young student, who has imbibed 
(or rather refused to stifle) tho idea that a man's 
soul is better worth living for than his body. Ac- 
cordingly, ho has built him a house ten by fiftoen 
feet in a pieco of unfrequented woods by tho sido 
of a pleasant litflo lakelet, where ho dovotes his 
days to study and reflection, cultivating a Rinall 
plat of ground, living frugally on vogctubles, and 
working for the neighboring farme s whenever he 
is in need of money or additional exercise. It 
thus costs him somo six to eight week's rugged 
labor per year to earn his food and clothes, and 
perhaps an hour or two per day extra to prepare 
his food and fuel, keep his house in order, «kc. — 
He has lived in this way four years, and his total 
expenses for last year wcro $41 25, and his sur- 
plus earnings at tho close were $13 21, which he 

considers a better rcoult than almost any of tho 
farmers of Concord could show, though they have 
worked nil tho timo. Hy this course Mr. Thoreau 
livos freo from pecuniary obligation ordepondenco 
on others, except that ho borrows somo books, 
which is an equal pleasure lo lender and borrow- 
er. The man on whoso Intid he is a squatter is 
no wise injarod nor inconvenienced thereby. If al* 
our young men would but hear this lecturo, wo 
think somo among them would feol le*s strongly 
impelled either to come to No w- York or go to Cal- 

,forma - N.Y. Tribune . 4-2-49. 



I IMo use wafer, asTiur boat ruffled the surface 
amid" the willows breaking the reflections cf the trees. 
I The banks had* passed the hight of their beauty, and 
somo el the brightest (lowers showed by thoiriaded 
tints that the season was verging toward the alter noon 
| of the year; but this sombre tinge enhanced their sin- 
| cerity, and in the still unabated heats they seemed like 
the mossy brink of some cool well. The narrow-leaved 
willow lay>al.>ns the unlace ol the water in masses of 
light green foliage, intor.pen.cd with the large white 
balls ol the button liu-h" The rose-colored polygonum 
raised its head proudly above the water on either hand, 
and, flowering Ht this season and in theHe localities, in 
the midst ul dense Holds ol the white species, which 
skirted the sides ol the stream, its little streak of red 
looked very rare mid precious. The pure white blos- 
soms of the arrow head ftotaf in the shallower p*rl-. 
and a tew cardinals on the margin still proudly «ur 
veyed themselves reflected in the water, though the 
latter, as well as the pickerel-wood, was now nearly 
out of blossom. The snake head, rlulone /rlabra, grew 
close to the fhoro, while a kind of coreopsis, 
turning its bra/on lace to Ihe sun, full nnd rank, ami a 
tall, dull red Mower, rupatoxium piirpurcuM, or trumpet- 
wood, formed the rear rank ol Ihe lluvial array The 
bright blue llowers of the soap wort gentian were 
sprinkled hero and there in the adjacent meadows, 



like Mowers which I'roserpine had dropped, and still 
farther in the fields, or higher on the bank, were seen 
the Virginian ih.xiu, and drooping iicnttia or ladies'- 
trosscs; while from the more distant waysides, winch 
we occasion. illy passed, and luink- where the sun had 
lodged, n, reflected a dull 'yellow beam from lite 
ranks ol tansy, now in iti prune. In short, nature 
seemed to hare adorned herself tor our departure 
with a prolusion ot fringes and curls, mingled v> ith the 
hrssfstsnts ol flowers, reflected in the water. Hut we 
mssasB'yie white water-lily, which is Ihe queen 
■ " ■ s at/rer.. in reign being over for this season. J 
mssTM his voyage too late, perhaps, by a true 
who dolaj 1 so long. Many 

•d water. I have pa 
hmibc on a Summer morning between helssY nt 
jprr'i" shut in sleep : ami when at length the tlnkos 
ol sunlight from over tho bank tell on the surface of 
the water, whole Holds of while 111 
ua>h open bei 
ing ol a harm 
once ol the si 



tie 

y ol thi* spcei. -* inhabit 
ssed down the rfisilPsV 



s seemed to 

... .itod along, like the unfold 
sensible is this llower to the inilu 
,.ys." 

Here is nnother in n s'milnr vein : 
■• Whether we live hj the s.m -ide, or by tho lakes nnd 
rivers, or on the prairie, i! cone. -Ills us to attend to the 
nature ol fishes, sine.- they nre not phenomena confined 



1849 



42 



ile 



to certain localities only, but forms and phase* nl the 
lit,, in nature universally dispersed. The countless 
shoals winch ininuslly cnnst the shores ot Kitrnpe ; unil 
America, are not so interesting to the stutlent of na- 
ture as the more fertile law itself, which deposits their 
•pawn on the tops ot mountains, ami on the interior 
plains; the tl-ll principle in nature, Ironi which it re 
suits that Ihcy may he louml in water in so many 
places, irf greater or less numbers. The natural hii-to. 
rnui.m not a fisherman, who prays tor cloudy days and 
good luck merely, hut as fishing has been st vital, •■ a 
contemplative man's recreation," Introducing hnn 
profitably to woods and water, so the truit of the natu 
rahst's observations is not in new genera or species, 
but in new contemplations still and science ni only a 
more contemplative man's recreation. Thi -lis ol the 
Ufa of fishes are everywhere disseminated, whether 

the winds wilt tbcm, or the waters lloat then, or H -e has b<mp m .o i .-,1 

the" limp enrth holds them: wlierever a pond i. nuj{, olt f(sM tj»»J have com- (-adding abroad t* 
str«lsM |f it is stocked Willi this vivacious race Tfce| ""IpH •»4»r mad priestess, their age has 
ha^Qt lease ot nature, and it is not yet out. The Cat 
itesu are brila'd to carry their ova from prnvtare to 
province in jars or in hollow reeds, or [hii watvMurdi. 
to transport Ihem to the moiintiiiu tarns and interior 
lakes. J>iere an' fishes wherever there is a tluid me- 
dium, and even in clouds and in melted metals we de 
teel their semblance. Think how in Winter you can 
sink a line down straight in m pasture through snow 
and ilirou.:h ice, and pull up a bright, slippery, dumb, 
subterranean silver or gulden ti-h ' It is curious, also, 
to fell, ct how thev make olio family, from the largest 
l.i the smallest. 'The list minnow , that lies on f e Ico 
as bait tor pickerel, looks like a huge sea fish cast up on 
the ahgrc." 



discourses and all foolish acts, a I. aim to our every 
cb«ifrin, as welcome after satiety as niter di-uippoinl 
iiii-iil ; that back ground winch tin- painter may not 
ilaub, bo hi! muster or bungler, mid which, however 
awkward a liguro we may have made in the lore 
ground, remains ever our inviolable asylum, when- no 
indignity run ussnil, no personality disturb us. 

Tli« orator puts nil his individuality, and h then 
m,„,t eloquent when most silent, lb' listens while he 
speuks, and is a lie„rer along « nh hi- nuilietiei-. \\ ho 
has not hearkened to llei iiilmili! din ' She is Truth - 

Spc.iklllg-trilliipct, the sole one le. the trill- Delphi and 

Do. I, an,, which kings ami courtiers would do well to 
consult, nor will they he baulked by an ambiguous an- 
swer. For through lier id. revelations have beet le, 

and just in proportion as men have consulted her nrii 

ltbln, they have obtained a clear insight, and the ir 

an enlightened oiu>. Hut as 

a strange 

beew stark 

and leaden. Sueli were garrulous imd isJHt'jTIM, 

which no longer yield and sound, but the ^rTf?*' T 



i-r sounding 



a ape, mien ot hi 



di- 



ll ir next eatraot i 

die; (■ ,|| ,od ; 

" ', - lie- truest sou '•! v approaches always near- -t to 
solitude. -,, the most i-M-r-llent speech rlnally tails into 
Ml in- Silence is uiiililile to nil una, si all tlni-s, and id 
nil jd.ees. Hlie is sp, e, h w In u we hear inwardly, sound 
vvll-n we hear outwardly. I nation has not displaced 
lie i . hut i- lot i i-il.Ie Ir.ime work ami loll. All sounds 
in, her sei v, nits and purveyors, proclaiming not only 
that their nii-tress I-. toil i j a rare mistress, and earn- 
estly to he „.. ugh! Mil.-, Tln-y lire so lar akin to Si- 
lence, that thev are hut hubbies on her surface, which 
ttraiithtwsy burst, an evidence nl the strength and 
prolificnms of the undei current; a hunt utterance nl 
silence, ami then only agreeable to our auditory nerves 
when they contrast theiiisehen with hiiiI relieve the 
former. In oroportion as they 'Us tins, and are hight- 
eners and inr*n rs t the imIoiico, they are harmony 
and purest • ,y. 
Silence is tl nlrersal r. luge, the seipiel to all dull 



silent and melodious era is 
ing in the ears of men." 

Hall the bonk ia like and as good aa thia. — 
Nearly every page ia instinct with genuine Poetry 
except thoae wherein verae ia haltniL-ly attempt 
ed, which are lor the moat part sorry proae. Then 
there ia > misplaced 1'antheiatie attack on the 
Christian Faith.. Mr. Thoreau— we must presume 
aoberly — aayi : 

•' In my Pantheon, Pan otill reigns In his pristine glo- 
ry, with his ruddy then, his (lowing beard, and his 
shaggy body, bis pipe and his crook, his nymph Kcho, 
and bis chosen daughter lambe ; tor the great god Pan 
is not dead, aa was rumored. Perhaps of all the gods 
of New-England and ol undent tlreece, I urn most eon 
• tant at his shrine. 

" One memorable addition to the old mythology is 
due to this era,— the Christian table With what pains, 
and u-ars, and blood, these centuries have woven this 
and added it to the mythology ol mankind. The new 
Prometheus. Willi what miraculous consent, and pa- 
tience, anil persistency, has this mytlius been stamped 
upon the memory ol the race ! It would Weill as il it 
were in the progress ol our mythology to dethrone 
Jehovah, and crown Christ in his stead. 

" If it is not a tragical lib- we live, then I know not 
what to call It. Such a story as that ol Jesus Christ,— 
the history ot Jerusalem, say, being • part ol the Uni- 
versal History.' The naked, the wnbaliiied, iinlniried 



1849 

death ol Jerusalem amid Its desolate hills,— think ot It. 
In 'lasso's poem I trust some things are sweetly buried. 
Consider the snappish tenacity with who I, Ihef-pioaeh, 
Chriatianity still. What are lime and spue.- to Chris- 
tianity, HUtbtCrn hundred years, and a new w oi i Id I — 
■ BE k n W u l W nV Hfe of a Jewish peasant should have 
force to muke a New -^ork bishop so bigoted, forty 
lour lamps, the gill ol kings, now burning in a place 
called the Holy Sepulchre ;— a church hell ringing;— 
aome unaffected tears shed by a pilgrim on Mount 
Calvary within the week. 

" - Jerusalem, Jerusalem, when 1 forget thee, may my 
right hand lorget her cunning. 

•• ■ ny tne waters ol i: ibj Ion there we s ,1 down, and 
we wept when we rem em ben-il /.ion.' 

" I trust that some may be as mar mid dear to 

Buddha. .,i Clmst.nl -»i d. i.bi.rg. who are Will,, lit the 

pali! of their churches. It i-. ucce.-ary not to h, Chris 
tian. to appreciate lb. 1, ,ut v und Mgnihrancr id l 
ot (,'hn-l. I know that some will have hard thought,, 
of me, when they la in their Christ named" beaide my 
Itaddha. yet I am -me that I am w illmg they should 
love their Chiist mure than m\ loiddha. lor the lo*e la 
the main thing, ami I hk, liim'too. Why need Chris- 
tians be still into!, , .,m and -uperstitioua » 

"The reading win, h I love best is the rVrlpturts of 
the several nations, though it happens that f sin better 
acquainted with those of the Hindoos, Use* Chiasaats, and 
the Persians, than ol the II, brew*, which I huve come 
to last, tiiveuie ime ol these llihlea, and yuai have 
silenced tne lor a while. 

We have ijuoted a lair proportion of our author's 
• marteat Pantlie stie sentences, but there ia ■ im- 
tlier in which he directly asserts that he run 
aiders the Saciuil Hooka of the llruliinins in no- 
tiling interior to the Chtistian Bible. Il w.-ii 
hardly nccVtsary to say in addition that lie is not 
well acquainted Willi the Utter— the point worth 
considering; is rather— iwgkt n.'t an author to 
make himtr/J thoroughly ae,|uaitited with n bi»,k. 
which, if true, is of such transcendent importance, 

belore uttering opinions rnnccr ir it riilciilnted 

to slim li and pain ninny readers, not to speak ol 
those who vi ill !••• utterly repelled by them ' Can 
that which Milton nod Nsivvton so profoundly 
reverenced (and they hml studied it thoroughly 
he wisely turned oil by a youth as unworthy ol 



NaY. Tribune . 4-7-49. 



Reply. 
Mr. Thorough is indeed in a fog — in fact, we sus- 
pect there is a mistake in his name, and that he 
mast have been changed at nurse for another boy 



How to ljlve-I)Ir. Thoreau'* Example. 

To the Editor of the Tribune : 

I notice in your paper of this morning a strong wboso true name was Shallow. Nobody has pro- 

commendation of one Mr. Thoreau forgoing out into posed or suggested that it becomes everybody to 

the woods and living in a hut all by himself at the rate S° oft* into the woods, each build himself a hot and 

of about $15 per annum, in order to illustrate the value livo hermit-like, on the vegetable products of his 

of the soul. Having always found in The Tribune a v «ry modcrato labor. But there is a large class of 



friend of sociability and neighborly helping each other- 
Along, 1 felt a little surprise at seeing such a perform- 
ance held up as an example for the young men of this 
country, and supposed I must have mUtaken the sense 



young mon who ONpiro to Montal Culture through 
Htmly, H<Mnlin|' ( Itrllnrtion, \r>. Tlicso aro too 
apt I-) surrillco their propnr IndcpMiilonco in ihn 
purnuitul Llu-ir ohjiot — In run in tlnht, throw tlw<»n« 



of your article. Accordingly I called in my wife, Mrs. hi-Ivcs on tlio tender mercies of mmo patron, rola. 
Thorough, Bnd we itudled it over together, and came tivc, duration Society, or something of tho sort 
to the conclusion that you really believed the Concord , , . ,, , , ,- . ' 

hermit had done a fine thing. Now I am puzzled, and orto < lcscen '» ■»t° tho lowor deep oi roping out a 

thin vol 11 ntn of vary thin poems, to he inflicted on 
a much-enduring public, or to importune some one 
for a sub-Editorship or the like. Now it does seem 
to us that Mr. Thoreau has set all his brother aspi- 
rants to self culture, a very wholesomA Biampie. 
and shown them how, by chastening their physical 
appetites, they may preserve their proper inde- 
pendence without starving their souls. When 
they shall have conned that lesson, we trust, with 
Mr. Thorough otherwise Shallow's permission, he 
will give thorn another. [Ed. Trib. 



write in a friendly way to a«k tor a little light on this 
peculiar philoiophy. Mrs. T. is more clear in her mind 
than I am She will have it that the young man is 
either a whimsy or else a good for-nothing, selfish, 
crab-like sort of chop, who tries to shirk the duties 
whoso hearty and honest discharge is the only thing 
that In her view entitles a man to be regarded as a good 
example. She declares that nobody has a right to live 
for himself alone, away from the Interests, the affec- 
tions, and the sufferings of his kind. Such a way of 
going on, the says, is not living/but a cold and snailish 
kind of esistence, which, as she maintains, is both in- 
fernal and internally stupid. 

Yours, truly Timothy Thobouoh. 

Lt Roy Place, April <>, 1849. 



1849 

even consideration ? Mr. Thoreau' s treatment of 
this subject icemi revolting alike , good aense 
and Kootl takto. Wpjtk him to watgh all h«Thai 
offered with ,►- ib~ meriti of the Christian 
a* compare*. jiiitli r^e^criptores against the fol- 
lowing briol extra -fr^ra tho last Kdinburgh Re- 
view : 

"The II' • K>ppi<t,:- t it uth'T tha> It pretends to be, 
preRentn M < th I singular phenomenon Id the spare 
wliii-li it o< . up., j throughout th>- continued Unor} of 
literature. We see nothing like it; and it may well 
perplex the intidel ti> account lor it. Nor need hi* sa- 
gacity disdain to enter a little morn deeply into its 
possible caiitu than he is usually inclined to do. It has 
not bci-n given to any otktr batik ol religion thus to 
triumph over national prejudices, anil lodge itself se- 
curely in th!- hn^rt of great communities, — varying by 
every conceivable%iveraity ollanguage, race, manners, 
customs, and indeed agreeing in nothing but a venera- 
tion for itself. It adapts Itself with facility to the revo- 
lutions ol thought and feeling which shake to pieces 
all things else; and flexibly accommodates itself to the 
progress of society anil the changes of civilization. — 
Kven conquests — the disorganization of old nations — 
the formation of new — do not affect the continuity of 
its empire. It lays hold of the new as ol the old, and 
transmigrates with the spirit ol humanity ; attracting 



43 

to itsell, by its own moral power, in all the communi- 
ties it enters, a ceaseless, intensity of effort tor its 
propagation, illustration, tn< defense. Other systems 
of religion arc usually delicate exotics, and will not 
bear transplanting. The gods of the nations are local 
di'ities, anil reluctantly quit their native soil ; at all 
events they patromxc onls their favO<ite races, and 
periah'wt once when the tribe or nattori ol their wor- 
shipers becomes cxtinctwdffettsJong before.*'*' ^Nothing, 
Intlced, Is more liilhruuTftn Unmake toreigners feel 
anything hut the utmost indlfferaBb (except as an ob- 
ject of philosophic curiosity) isont the n-llvion of 
other nations, and no. portion ol their national litera- 
ture is regarded as mnru tedious or unattractive %s 
that which treats of their theology. The elegant my 
thologies of tirecee and Rome made no proselytes 
among other nations, and fell hopelessly the moment 
(&«y tell. The Koran of Mahomet has, it it true, been 
propagateu u/ uie sworn , out it hug been propagafiea 
ny nothing else . and its doiiiinioii has bean limited r* 
those nations who could not reply to that logic. If tint 
llible be false, the facility with winch it overleap* the 
otherwise impassable hi lindanes ol race and clime, 
and domiciliates itsell among so many different nations, 
is assuredly a far more alriking ami wonderful proof of 
human ignorance, pcrverti'tiesfl ami stupidity, than is 

afforded U) the limited prevalent f even the moat 

abject superstitions ; or. il it really ha* merits which, 
tj^tnfk a labia), have enabled it to impose so rnmprc- 



1849 



^sansj vela anil variously on mankind, wonderful indesal 
as oat wfa Men the skill in iu com pi 



ithaissBsMhim.! 
,«W jnostaopaawt 

fs*bsiss»»vahric 



ition i ho wonder- 

If ourjht never lo regard 

rencc, aa far too auc- 



ihrlcation to admit a thought oi 
scotf or ridicule. In his last illness, a few days Qsatore 
his death^ir W. Scott asked Mr. Lock hart to read to 
him. Mr. Wlaa U ft W 'ttq aired what book he would Kke. 
read a chapter ol the gospel c|. 
vstll sjs ss/asd genius, to whom all the 
realms aaf**l"rna are aa familiar as to bun. say the like 
ol tosxn JJ*otessod revelation, originating among a i ace 
and associated with a history and u cluue aa foreign m 
ttroee eoanerted with the birthplace of the llible liom 
* os* of the ancestry of Sir Walter Scott i Can we, Iiv 
asiy stretch ot Imagination, suppose some Walter 
dusjtt of a new race in Australia or South Africa, say. 
ing (he same ot the Vedas or the Koran t " 

AlbsUt wo love not theoloihc controversy, we 
proffer onr columns to Mr. T>".roau, sli mM he »ee 
lit to Btuwer these qui stiona. We would bnve 
preferred to p.vi the tlie-i • in tilcuct*, but our ad- 
miration of his hook ami .in- reprehension of iu 
Pantht ism forbade that course. May we not hope 
that he will r.-cmaidjr his too raably e.y, ,. ased 
tiitit-nt on ttiis liend ' 



North American and Gazette, Philadelphia, 4-11-49, Editorial. 



SOLITUDE SEEKING. 

We see notices made in different newspaper* 
concerning a young man who is lecturtug on 4, L»Te 
in the Woods," and the material oi h-.s discourse 
may (Misjudged ot' by the foil owing account which 
we take from the Tribune :— 

M Mr. Thoreau is a young student, who ha* im- 
bibed (or rather refused to stihY) the idea that a 
mauV soul is Letter worth living for than hi* body. 
Accordingly, he has built him a house ten by fifteen 
feel in a piece of' unfrequented wood*, by the side 
ol* a pleasant little lakelet, where he devotes -his 
day* t'» study and reflection, cultivating a small 
plat of ground, living frugally on vegetables, and 
working for the neighboring farmers whenever he 
is in need oY money or additional exercise. It thus 
cost* him some six or eight weeks rugged labor per 
vear to earn his food and clothes, and perhaps an 
hour or two (ht day tO'prepare his food and fuel, 
keep his house in order, $cc. He has lived in thi» 
way t.Hir years, and his total expenses for last 
yc-ar were S-41 'i.\ and his surplus earnings at the 
close were $1.1 21, which he coos' iders a better re- 
Milt than almost any- of the farmers of Concord 
could show, although they have worked all the 
time. By this course Mr. Thoreau lives free, from 
pecuniary obligation or dependence on others, ex- 
cept he borrow* some book*, which is an equal 
pleasure to leader and borrower. The man on 
whose land he is a squatter is no wise injured or 
mooiiventfeuced thereby. If all our young men 
would but hear this lecture, we think some among 
UieiH would feel lesa> strongly impelled either to 
come to New Vork or go to California." 

At the first blush this strange life seems beauti- 
ful in ijself and worthy of miUation; but like the 
scenery oi the stage it is better when regarded at a 
distance than when closely approached. It isevi- 
dent that self dependence, in its most radical sense, 
i* intended to be preached by this studenl-pbiloso- 
plrcr and dweller ot a cabin in the woods, -^nd* be- 
side thwit, (*n his opinion ueoessary parts of the 



system.) the absence oi communion with our fel- 
low creatures, except such as absolute necessity 
may exact, uud the most ancboritish frugality in 
life; wh.i«*h are to be recorded as the noblest oi vir- 
tues. Is it really so' .Can it be that this solitary 
asceticism i* really the grace and beauty o( being' 
The subject is worth enquiry. 

it has "von written by one who had the poet's 
understanding oi human nature, that 

" Moi die honuit pined, (til wra:m ■milru'"— 
and that sentiment may well be taken as a guide 
tor all such )>ceuliar subjects as this o( which we 
now «q>eal;. It is a law of nature to be *ocial K to 
seek coinmnuioii, to gather friends; aud the his- 
tory oi mnu is fraught with examples wrjsch prove 
that they who are the readiest to seek solitude' aud 
separate ibemselves from the w'orld, have had bit- 
ter experience asibe moving impulse, and checked 
and dried-iip sympathies to make them weak 
enough to Joreajo companionship. The woufd-be 
hermit of Concord may or may not be a worldly- 
disappomted man : better for him that be were, than 
that he should deliberately sit down in the woods, 
a Tuuoa without cause, to reject uud despise the 
common charities and duties, the pleasure* and the 
pains of lile, among his feliow'inen. 

We would not be thought worldly beyond just 
bouuds ; luji, in our estimation, every man should 
make his life useful to the extent of his ability.— 
There is upen u* all the obligation oi labor; it is 
th« command of the Creator . but let it be supposed 

that each individual following the example of this 
idle young- student, were simply to comply with 
the duty as he has done, — bide away in the bush, 
laboring no more than barely to maintain his own 
single, selfish existence,— where, then, would be> 
ooedieuce to the divine commaod^nd all-tbe im- 



1849 44 1349 

incnse and beneficent consequence* of obedience — It w a weakness of mind to be afraid of annoy 
the increase and happiness of the human race — ances; and they who look upon evils and afHictiona 
union, communion, civilisation to the masses; and meet them with the boldest aspect and the 
with— to the individual— all those sweet amenities, nomest heart, will have a far greater and more 
the silent but powerful influences which exalt as fe^aiy appreciated allotment of pleasure than 
well as restrain; which give to morality her sway ^^ w hofiee from pain and trouble by self-isola- 
ai*J to religion ber true observance? Where tlon 

would be the gentle ties of kindred, the love which The remark at the close of the paragraph .quot- 
glows around the family hearth, and the confidence ^ conveys a juatand proper warning. But while 
which derives support from the faith and truth of it is a perilous adventure often too rashly resolved 
others ? Where would be the learning which has on by young wen who rush from the country into 
attested the power, at the same time that it has crowded cities, or spread their sails for California, 
elevated the mind y — toe healing arts, —the know. , n the quest of sudden wealth, it would be an inn- 
ledge which has resolved the uses and the order of n iie!y worse and more dangerous speculation to 
elements, the planets and the stars?' What would abscond from society and attempt the existence of 
follow, but mental and moral degradation ? What m wild Indian in the forest, in the dream of happi- 
is such solitary life; after all, but a voluntary aba a- ness and conceit of merit. He who lives thus for 
dooinent of civilisation and return to barbarism ? himself alone, should expect to forego the needed 
Reason ibis subject as they may, those who en- aid o( friends to meliorate the bed of sickness by 
courage such economic and philosophic perversion patient care and assiduous kindness, and, on that 
of life, encourage idleness and the most egotistic of death should hope for no hand- of affect ion to 
meanness; aad the exemplification » given by the dose the filming eye, and no 4 voice of love to sob 
young student himself. Does he live for others or ^ | M( fsrewelt to the fleeting spirit. There can 
for himself ? For himself solely; and if his own he no fate more terrible than that of him who finds 
statement be true, while starving, his body and de- that, having, miser-like, hoarded up, during life, 
priving himself of the opportunities of doing any his sympathies and refused alt exchange of regard 
goodsservice to his fellow men, he has been eon- -with others, he is himself at length deserted at that 
tioualiy dependent, himself, upon the kindness of moment v/ben he would give worlds for the sup- 
others lor his subsistence. Us "squats" Open an- port of one friendly, or the devotion of one loving 
other man's land, where he is permitted to live spirit. There must come a day in the existence of 
rent-free; but something more is necessary to sup- every solitary man when the scales will fall from 
ply even his narrow wants than his garden and his his eyes, and in bitterness of regret, he will be 
own aohtkry effort can supply. He flies his philo- forced to ssy, as was said, in the beginning cf the 
sophic cell, at intervals, to seek the aid of those world, by Him who rules it, — "it is not good that 
who live by aiding one another— to ask the place m >" should be alone. " 
of the prodigal or the beggar among the swine and 
their husks, or at the foot of the rich man's— or the 
poor man's — table,— to purchase with hi* labor, or 
obtain from their liberality, the necessaries of life 
which tlte desert refuses,— 4hen,- suddenly, to turn 
his back upon the .world which had befrieuded bun 
in his hour of need, and resume the life at fancied 
independence and philosophy, wbica is only of 
usclessoces,' foily and mendicancy. What can 
there be in a mind, so trained, in the. slightest de- 
gree tinctured With one generous sentiment? Such 
utile affords no example that can be imitated or 
ought to be imitated, — that can be or ought to be 
tolerated, or spoken of in any- terms abort of ceo- 
aure, Such a- life is, i n dee d , above ail other lives, 

a. tale. 
Tokl by an iq>bt, falifef sound and fury . 
ufa: 



thtaifyws aoTM 
It is a tale told by an idiot— it is a life lived l»y 
idiot. 



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35 



60LITUDE 8REKIN0. 

Mr. Thorfau is a young student, who hu im- 
bibed (or rather refused to stifle) the idea that a 
man's snul is better worth living for than his body. 
Accordingly he has built him a house ten by fifteen 
feel in a piece of unfrequented woods, by the side 
of a pleasant little lakelet, where he devotes his 
day* to study and reflection, cultivating* small plat 
of ground, living frugally on vegetables, and work- 
ing for the neighboring farmers whenever he is in 
need of money or additional eiercise. It thus cfcsU 
him some six or eight weeks rugged labor per year 
to earn his food and clothes, and perhaps an hour 
or two per day to prepare his food and fuel, keep 
his house in order. &c. He has lived in this way 
four years.and his total expenses for thelast year were 

$41 25, and his surplus earnings at the dose were 
$13.21, which he conairierf t better reaolt than almoet any of 
the farmers of Concord could show, although they ha»e work- 
ed ill the time. By thii course Mr. Tho.eau b>ea dee from 
pecuniary obligation or dependence on ©there, except he bor- 
row! tome books, which U an equal pleasure to- lender and 



1849 

borrower. The rain on whose land be u 4 squatter if no- 
wife injured or inconTenienced thereby- If *H oar young men 
would but hear thia lecture, we think some among them would 
(eel lea* strongly impelled either to come to New York or to 
go to California. 

At the first blush this strange life seem* beautiful in iUeJf 
and worthy of imitation, but, like the scenery of the stage, it 
is better when regsrjed at a distance than when doarly ap- 
proached. It is evident that self dependence in iu moat radi- 
cal sense, is intended to be preached by thia student philoso- 
pher and dweller of • cabin in the woods, and besida that (Id 
his opinion necessary parts of the system) the absence of com- 
munion with our fellow creaturea, eicept such aa ahsoluia 
necessity may end, and the most anchorittsh frugality in life 
which are to be recorded aa the noblevt of virtue*. Is it really 
ao ' Can it he that thia aolitary asceticism is really the grec* 
and beauty of being > The subject is worth inquiry. 

It has been written by one who had (he poet's understand- 
ing of human nature that — 

" Man, tho hermit, pined, till woman smiled ," 
and that sentiment msy well be Isken as a guide for all such 
peculiar subjects as this of which we now epesk. Il is s la 
of nature In be social, to seek communion, to gather friends i 
and the history of man is frsught with eiamplee which prove 
that they who are the readiest to seek solitude snd separate 
themselves from the world, ha*e had bitter experience as tl.e 
moving impulse, snd checked snd dried- up eympsthies to 
make them weak enough to forego companionship. The 
would-be hermit of Concord may or may not be a worldly- 
disappointed man. Better for him that he were, than that 
he should deliberetely sit down in the wtodi a Timen, with- 
out cause, to rej/tct and despise the common charities and 
duties, the pleasure* and the pains of life, among bis fellow- 
men. 

We would not be thought worldly beyond just bjunJa, 
but, in our estimation, every man should make his life useful 
to the extent of bis ability. There ia upon uaall the obliga- 
tion of labor — it is the command of the Creator — but let it be 
supposed that each individual, following the example of thia 
idle young student, were simply to comply with the duly as 
he ha* done — hide away in the bush, laboring no more than 
barely to maintain hie own single, selfish existence— where, 
then, would be obedience to the Divine command, and all the 
immense and beneficent consequences of obedience, the in- 
crease and happiness of the human race, union, communion, 
civilisation to the maasea, with, to the individual, all those 
sweet amenitie*, the silent but powerful influence* of which 
eialt as well a* restrain » which give to morality her sway 
and to religion her true observance ? Where would bo the 
gentle ties of kindred, the love which glows around the family 
bcarlh, and the confidence which derive* support from the 
faith and truth of other* > Where would be the learning 
which ha* attested the power at the same time that it ha* 
elevated the mind '—the healing arts, the knowledge of 
which ha* resolved the uses and the order of element*, the 
planets, and-tbe stars } What would follow but mental and 
moral degradation ' What is such solitary life, after alt, but 
a voluntary abandonment of civilization and return to her- 
balism I 

. Rsason tale subject aa they may, those who encourage such 
economic and philosophic perversion o( life encourage idle- 
ness and the moat egotistic meanness t and the exemplifica- 
tion la given by the young sludent himself. — North Ameriean. 



Mr. Herbert's Translations. — We have 
■trendy announced the publication of Mr. Herbert'* 
metrical translations of the Prnmethos Bound and 
Agamemnon of Aesch'ylns. The interest of the new 




1849 




Boston Semi-Weekly Advertiser , 
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1849 

Behold hound mf an unltuppy god, 

The enemv of Zeus, fallen under 

The ill will of nil Ihc gods, a» many u 

Enter into the hall of /eus. 

Through too great love of mortals. 

Alas! alas' what fluttering do I hear 

Of blrda near? for the air ruatles 

With the soft rippling of wing*. 

Everything to me la fiarful which creepa this wsy. 

To thesa we add the transitu ion of the aaiM pai- 
aage in the Family Library Series. 

PROMETHEJIS, ALONE. 
Ethereal air, and ye awlft-wlnged wings! 
Ye rivers springing from fresh founta, ye wavea, 
That o'er the luternilnahle ocean wreathe 
Your rriaped smlies, thou all producing earth 
And thee, bright ami, I call, whose flaming orb 
Viewa the wide world beneath, i.ce what, a god, 
I Buffer from the gnda; with what fierce pains, 
Behold, what torture* lor revolving ngea 
1 here must struggle; such unMecinly chains 
This new-rained ruler of the goda devlaed. 
Ah ine: That groan bursts from my angulah'd Be art, 
My present woca and future to bemoan. 
When shall there aulTrliigs Mud their destined sotlf 
But why that vain Inquiry ' My rlenr sight 
Looks through the future; unforeseen no III 
Shall come on me; behoves me then to bear 
Patient my destined fate, knowing how vain 
To struggle with necessity's strong power. 
But to complain, or not complain, alike 
Is unavailing, nlnce for favors shown 
To mortal man I hear this weight of woo. 
Hid In a hollow cave the fount of (Ire 
1 privately convey'd, of every art 
Productive, and the noblest gift to men) 
And for this slight oltence, woe, woe Is me! 
I besr these chains, flx'd In this savage rock. 
Unsheltered from the sharp, Inclement air. 
Ah me! what sound, what softly-breathing odor 
Steals on my sense? Be you divinities, 
Or mortal men, or of th' heroic race, 
Whoe'er have reach'd thla wild rock's extreme cliff, 
Spectators of my woes, or what your purpose, 
Yo ace me bound, a wretched god, ahhnrr'd 
By Jove, and ev'ry god that treads hla courts, 
For my fond love to msn. Ah me! again 
1 hear the sound of flult'rlng nigh; the air 
Pnttls to the soft beat of light-moving w lugs) 
All, that approaches now, Is dreadful to me. 



46 



1849 




Art. II. — A Wcclc on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. 
By IIexry D. Thoreau. Boston and Cambridge : James 
Monroe fc Company. 1840. pp. 413. J-./t . -<f« *..-«/■£. ■ 

Mass. Quarterly Review , December, 1849. 

"We stick to the sea-serpent. JNot that he is found in Concord 
or Merrimack, but like the old Scandinavian snake, he binds 
together for us the two hemispheres of Past and Present, of 
Belief and Science. lie is the link which knits us seaboard 
Yankees with our Norse progenitors, interpreting between the 
age of the dragon and that of the railroad-train. "We have 
made ducks and drakes of that large estate of wonder and 
delight bequeathed to us by ancestral irkings, and this alone 
remains to us un thrift heirs of Linn. We give up the Kraken, 
more reluctantly the mermaid, for we once saw one, no mulier 
formosa^ superm, no greenhaired maid with looking-glass and 
comb, but an adroit compound of monkey and codfish, suffi- 
ciently attractive for purposes of exhibition till the suture 
where the desinit inpiscem began, grew too obtrusively visible. 
We feel an undefined respect for a man who has seen the 
sea-serpent. He is to his brother-fishers what the poet is to 
his fellow-men. Where they have seen nothing better than a 
school of horsemackerel, or the idle coils of ocean around 
Halfway Rock, lie has caught authentic glimpses of the with- 
drawing mantlehem of the Edda-age. We care not for the 
monster himself. It is not the thing, but the belief in the 
thing, that is dear to us. May it be long before Professor 
Owen is comforted with the sight of his unfleshed vertebrae, 
long before they stretch many a rood behind Kimball's or 

Baraum's glass, reflected in the shallow orbs of Mr. and Mrs. 
Public, which stare but see not ! When we read that Captain 
Spalding of the pink-stern Tltree PoUics has beheld him rush- 
ing through the brine like an infinite series of bewitched mack- 
erel-casks, we feel that the mystery of old Ocean, at least, has 
not yet been sounded, that Faith and Awe survive there un- 
evaporate. We once ventured the horsemackerel theory to an 
old fisherman, browner than a tomcod. " Hosmackril ! " he 
exclaimed indignantly, "hosmackril be — " (here he used a 
phrase commonly indicated in laical literature by the same sign 
which serves for Doctorate in Divinity,) " don't yer spose / 
know a hosmackril?" The intonation of that "I" would 
have silenced professor Monkbaircis Owen with his provoking 
2>hoca forever. What if one should ask him if he knew a 
trilobite ? 

The fault of modern travellers is that they sec nothing out of 
sight. They talk of eocene perio Is and tertiary formations, 
and tell us how the world looked to the plesiosaur. They take 
science (or nescience) with them, instead of that soul of gener- 
ous trust their elders had. All their senses are skeptics and 
doubters, materialists reporting t!.ings for other skeptics to 
doubt still further upon. Nature \ ?comcs a reluctant witness 
upon the stand, badgered with geologist hammers and phials of 



1849 47 1849 

acid. There have been no travelers since those included in we not defrauded and impoverished ? Does California vie with 

Hakluyt and Purchas, except Martin, perhaps, who saw an El Dorado, or are Brucc's Abyssinian Kings a set-off for 

inch or two into the invisible at the Orkneys. We have peri- Prcster John '{ A bird in the bush is worth two in the hand, 

patetic lecturers, hut no more travellers. Travellers' stories And if the philosophers have not even yet been able to agree 

are no longer proverbial. We have picked nearly every apple whether the world has any existence independent of ourselves, 

(wormy or otherwise,) from the world's tree of Knowledge, how do we not gain a loss in every addition to the catalogue 

and that without an Eve to tempt us. Two or three have of Vulgar Errors 'i "Where arc the fishes which nidificated in 

hitherto hung luckily beyond reach on a lofty bough shadowing trees ? Where the monopodes sheltering themselves from the 

the interior of Africa, but there is a Doctor Bialloblotzky at the sun beneath their single umbrella-like loot, umbrella-like 

this very moment pelting at them with sticks and stones. It in every thing but the fatal necessity of being borrowed ? 

may be only next week, and these, too, bitten by geographers Where the Accphali, with whom Herodotus, in a kind of 

and geologists, will be thrown away. We wish no harm to ecstasy, wound up his climax of men with abnormal top-pieces ? 

this worthy Sclavonian, but his name is irresistibly suggestive Where the Hoc whose eggs are possibly boulders, needing no 



of boiled lobster, and some of the natives are not so choice in 
their animal food. 

Analysis is carried into everything. Even Deity is subjected 
to chemic tests. We must have exact knowledge, a cabinet 
stuck full of facts pressed, dried, or preserved in spirits, in- 
stead of a large, vague world our fathers had. Our modern 
Eden is a hortus siccus. Tourists defraud rather than enrich 
us. They have not that sense of esthetic proportion which 
characterized the elder traveller. Earth is no longer the fine 
work of art it was, for nothing is left to the imagination. Job 
Hortop, arrived at the height of the Bermudas, thinks it full 
time to throw us in a merman, — " we discovered a monster 
in the sea who showed himself three times unto us from the 
middle upwards, in which parts he was proportioned like a man, 
of the complection of a mulatto or tawny Indian." Sir John 
Hawkins is not satisfied with telling us about the merely sen- 
sual Canaries, but is generous enough to throw us in a handful 
over: "About these islands are certain flitting islands, which 
have been oftentimes seen, and when men approached near 
them they vanished, .... and therefore it should seem 
he is not yet born to whom God hath appointed the rinding of 
them." Henry Hawkes describes the visible Mexican cities, 
and then is not so frugal but that he can give us a few invisible 
ones. " The Spaniards have notice of seven cities which the 
old men of the Indians show them sh:uld lie toward the N. W. 



far-fetched theory of glacier or iceberg to account for them ? 
Where the tails of the Britons ? Where the no legs of the 
bird of Paradise ? Where the Unicorn with that single horn 
of his, sovereign against all manner of poisons ? Where the 
fountain of Youth ''. Where that Thcssalian spring which, 
without cost to the county, convicted and punished perjurers? 
Where the Amazons of Orcllana ? All these, and a thousand 
other varieties we have lost, and have got nothing instead of 
them. And those who have robbed us of them have stolen 
that which not enriches themselves. It is so much wealth cast 
into the sea beyond all approach of diving bells. Wc owe no 
thanks to Mr. J. E. Worcester, whose Geography we studied 
enforcedly at school. Yet even he had his relentings, and in 
some softer moment vouchsafed us a fine, inspiring print of the 
Maelstrom, answerable to the twenty-four mile diameter of its 
suction. Year by year, more and more of the world gets dis- 
enchanted. Even the icy privacy of the arctic and antartic 
circles is invaded. Our youth are no longer ingenious, as 
indeed no ingenuity is demanded of them. Every thing is 
accounted for, every thing cut and dried, and the world may be 
put together as easily as the fragments of a dissected map. 
The Mysterious bounds nothing now on the North, South, East, 
or West. Wc have played Jack Horner with our earth, till 
there is never a plum left in it. 

Since wc cannot have back the old class of voyagers, the 



from Mexico. They have used, and use daily, much diligence next best thing we can do is to send poets out a-travcllin 

These will at least see all that remains to be seen, and in the 
way it ought to be >een. These will disentangle nature for us 
from the various snarls of man. and show us the mighty nvthcr 
without paint or padding, still fresh and young, full-breasted, 
strong-backed, fit to suckle and carry her children. The poet 
earth effete and past bearing, tracing out with the eyes of in- is Le who bears the charm of freshness in his eyes. He mav 
dustrious fleas every wrinkle and crowfoot. safely visit Niagara, or those adopted children of nature the 



in seeking of them, but they canm-: find any one of them 
They say that the witchcraft of the Indians is such that when 
they come by these towns they cast a mist upon them so that 
they cannot see them." Thus do these generous ancient mar- 
iners make children of us again. Their successors show us an 



The journals of the elder navigators arc prose Odyssees. 
The geographies of our ancestors were works of fancy and 
imagination. They read poems where we yawn over items. 
Their world was a huge wonder-horn, exhaustless as that which 
Thor strove to drain. Ours would scarce <iuench the small 
thirst of a bee. No modern voyager brings back the magical 
foundation stones of a Tempest. No Marco Polo, traversing 
the desert beyond the city of Lok, would tell of things able to 
inspire the mind of Milton with 

" Calling shapes and beckoning shadows dire 
And airy tongues that syllabic men's names 
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses." 

It was easy enough to believe the story of Dante, when two 
thirds of even the upper-world were yet untraversed and un- 
mapped. With every step of the recent traveller our inher- 
itance of the wonderful is diminished. Those beautifully 
pictured notes of the Possible are redeemed at a ruinous dis- 
count in the hard ami cumbrous coin of the actual. How are 



Pyramids, sure to find them and to leave them as if no eve 
had vulgarized them before. For the ordinary tourist all wells 
have been muddied by the caravans that have passed that way, 
and his eye, crawling over the monuments of nature and art, 
adds only its fpaota of staleness. 

Walton quotes an " ingenious Spaniard " as saying, that 
" rivers and the inhabitants of the watery element were made 
for wise men to contemplate and fools to pass by without con- 
sideration," and Blount, in one of the notes to his translation 
of Philostratus, asserts that " as travelling docs much advan- 
tage wise men, so docs it no less prejudice fools." Mr. Tho- 
reati is clearly the man we want. He is both wise man and 
po:-r. A graduate of Cambridge — the fields and woods, the 
axe. the hoe, and the rake have since admitted him ad eundem. 
Mark how his imaginative sympathy goes beneath the crust, 
deer er down than that of Burns, and needs no plough to turn 
up r'.ic object of its muse. " It is pleasant to think in winter, 
as v.-e walk over the snowy pastures, of those happy dreamers 



1849 4 

tli.\: lie under the sod. of dormice and all that race of dormant 
creatures which have such a superfluity of life enveloped in 
thi.-k folds of fur, impervious to the cold." — p. 103. "For 
every oak and birch, too, growing on the hilltop, as well as for 
those elms and willows, we knew that there was a graceful 
ethereal and ileal tree making down from the roots, and somc- 
tim.-s nature in high tides brings her mirror to its foot and 
makes it visible."' — p. 40. Only some word were better here 
than mirror, ( which is true to the fact, but not to the fancy.) 
since we could not see throw/h that. Leigh Hunt represents 
a c 'loquy between man and fish, in which bothnnaintain their 
orthodoxy so rigidly that neither is able to comprehend or tol- 
erate the other. Mr. Thorcau flounders in no such shallows. 
lie is wiser, or his memory is better, and can recreate the 
ser.-.nions of that part of his embryonic life which he passed 
as a fish. We know nothing more thoroughly charming than 
his description of twilight at the river's bottom. 

-The light gradually forsook the deep water, as well as the 
dcf-j er air, and the gloaming came to the fishes as well as to us, 
and more dim and gloomy to them, whose day is perpetual twi- 
light, though .-iillieiently bright lor their weak and watery eyes. 
Vespers had already rung in many a dim and watery chapel 
down below, where the shadows of the weeds were extended in 
length over the sandy floor. The vespertinal pout had already 
begun to flit on leathern fin, and the finny gossips withdrew from 
the rmvial streets to creeks and coves, and other private haunts, 
exempting a few of stronger fin, which anchored in the stream, 
stemming the tide even in their dreams. Meanwhile, like a dark 
evtr.ing cloud, we were wafted over the cope of their sky, deep- 
enir.g the shadows on their deluged fields." 

One would say this was the work of some bream Homer. 
Melville's pictures of life in Ty-pcc have no attraction beside it. 
Truly wc could don scales, pectorals, dorsals, and anals, 
(critics are already cold-blooded,) to stroll with our dumb 
love, fin in fin, through the Rialto of this subfluvial Venice. 
The Complete Angler, indeed ! Walton had but an extraque- 
ou- and coquine intimacy with the fishes compared with this. 
His tench and dace arc but the poor transported convicts of 
the frying-pan. 

There was a time when Muskctaquid and Merrimack flowed 
down from the Unknown. The adventurer wist not what fair 
readies stretched before him, or what new dusky peoples the 
next bend would discover. Surveyor and map have done 
what they could to rob them of their charm of unexpectedness. 
The urns of the old river-gods have been twitched from under 
their arms and set up on the museum-shelf, or. worse yet, they 
serve to boil the manufacturer's plum-porridge. But Mr. 
Thorcau with the touch of bis oar conjures back as much as 
may be of the old enchantment. His map extends to the bed 
of the river, and he makes excursions into finland, penetrating 
among the scaly tribes without an angle. He is the true cos- 
mopolitan or citizen of the Beautiful. He is thoroughly im- 
partial — Trox, Tyriusve — a lichen or a man, it is all one, he 
looks on both with equal eyes. We are at a loss where to 
class him. He might be Mr. Bird, Mr. Fish, Mr. Rivers, Mr. 
Brook, Mr. Wood, Mr. Stone, or Mr. Flower, as well as Mr. 
Thorcau. His work has this additional argument for fresh- 
ness, the birds, beasts, fishes, trees, and plants having this 
advantage, that none has hitherto gone among them in the 
missionary line. They are trapped for their furs, shot and 
speared for their flesh, hewn for their timber, and grubbed for 
Indian Vegetable Pills, but they remain yet happily uncon- 
verted in primitive heathendom. They take neither rum nor 
gunpowder in the natural way, and pay tithes without being 



1849 

Judaized. Mr. Thorcau goes among them neither as hunter 
nor propagandist. He makes a few advances to them in the way 
of Booddhism, but gives no list of catechumens, though flowers 
would seem to be the natural followers of that prophet. 

In truth, Mr. Thorcau hitusclf might absorb the forces of 
the entire alphabetic sanctity of the A. B. C. F. M., persisting 
as he does in a fine, intelligent paganism. We need no more 
go to the underworld to converse with shadows of old philoso- 
phers. Here wc have the Academy brought to our doors, and 
our modern world criticized from beneath the shelter of the 
Portico. Were we writing commendatory verses alter the 
old style, to be preSxcd to this volume, wc should begin some- 
what thus : — 

If the aru-icnt. mystique, antifahian 

Was (so he claimed) t:' them that Troy town wan 

Before he was horn ; even so his soul wc 6ec 

(Time's ocean undcrr^t) revive in thee, 

As, diving ni^h to Eli?. Arcthuse 

Comes up to loose her rone by Syracuse. 

The great charm of Mr. Thorcau's book seems to be, that 
its being a book at all is a happy fortuity. The door of the 
portfolio-cage has been left open, and the thoughts have flown 
out of themselves. The paper and types are only accidents. 
The page is confidential like a diary. Pepys is not more mi- 
nute, more pleasantly unconscious. It is like a book dug up, 
that has no date toassign it a special contemporaneousness, 
and no name of author. It has been written with no uncom- 
fortable sense of a public looking over the shoulder. And the 
author is the least ingredient in it, too. All which I saw and 
part of which I was, would be an apt motto for the better por- 
tions of the volume : a part, moreover, just as the river, the 
trees, and the fishes are. Generally he holds a very smooth 
mirror up to nature, and if, now and then, he shows us his own 
features in the glass, when we had rather look at something 
else, it is as a piece of nature, and we must forgive him if he 
allow it a too usurping position in the landscape. He looks at 
the country sometimes (as painters advise) through the trium- 
phal arch of his own legs, and, though the upsidedownness of 
the prospect has its own charm of unassuetude, the arch itself 
is not the most graceful. 

So far of the manner of the book, now of the book itself. 
It professes to be the journal of a week on Concord and Mer- 
rimack Rivers. We must have our libraries enlarged, if Mr. 

Thorcau intend to complete his autobiography on this scale — 
four hundred and thirteen pages to a sennight ! He begins 
honestly enough as the Boswell of Muskctaquid and Merri- 
mack. It was a fine subject and a new one. We are curious 
to know somewhat of the private and interior life of two such 
prominent and oldest inhabitants. Muskctaquid saw the tremu- 
lous match half-doubtingly touched to the revolutionary train. 
The blood of Captain Lincoln and his drummer must have 
dribbled through the loose planks of the bridge for Muskctaquid 
to carry down to Merrimack, that he in turn might mingle it 
with the sea. Merrimack is a drudge now, grinding for the 
Philistines, who takes repeated Jammings without resentment, 
and walks in no procession for higher wages. But its waters 
remember the Redman, and before the Redman. They knew 
the first mammoth as a calf, and him a mere parvenu and 
modern. Even to the saurians they could say — we remember 
your grandfather. 

Much information and entertainment were to be pumped out 
of individuals like these, and the pump docs not suck in Mr. 
Thorcau's hands. As long as he continues an honest Boswell, 
his book is delightful, but sometimes he serves his two rivers 



1849 49 1849 

as Ilazlitt did Northcote, and makes them run Thoreau or of Massachusetts. Then, indeed, would the people of the 
Emerson, or, indeed, anything hut their own transparent clc- state have known something of their aquicolal ll-How-citlzcns. 
ment. What, for instance, have Concord and Merrimack to Mr. Thoreau handles tliem as if he loved them, as old Izaak 
do with Boodh, themselves professors of an elder and to them recommends us to do with a worm in impaling it. lie is the 
wholly sufficient religion, namely, the willing suhjects of watery very Asmodcus of their private life, lie unroofs their dwcl- 
laws, to seek their ocean ? We have digressions on Boodh, on p in "s and makes us familiar with their loves and sorrows, lie 
Anacreon, (with translations hardly so good as Cowley,) on seems to suffer a sea-change, like the Scotch peasant who wa3 
Persius, on Friendship, and we know not what. We come carried down among the seals in the capacity of family phy- 
upon them like snags, jolting us headforemost out of our sician. lie balances himself with them under the domestic 
places as we arc rowing placidly up stream or drifting down, lily-pad, takes a family bite with them, is made the confidant 
Mr. Thoreau becomes so absorbed in these discussions, that he f their courtships, and is an honored guest at the wedding- 
seems, as it were, to catch a crab, and disappears uncomforta- feast. lie has doubtless seen a pickerel crossed in love, a 
bly from his seat at the bow-oar. We could forgive them all, perch Othello, a bream the victim of an unappreciated idiosyn- 
especially that on Books, and that on Friendship, (which is crasy, or a minnow with a mission, lie goes far to convince 
worthy of one who has so long commerced with Nature and us f what wc have before suspected, that fishes are the high- 
with Emerson,) we could welcome them all, were they put by cs t f organizations. The natives of that more solid atmos- 
themselves at the end of the book. But as it is, they are out phere, they are not subject to wind or rain, they have been 
of proportion and out of place, and mar our Mcrrimacking o- u iltv of no Promethean rape, they have bitten no apple, 
dreadfully. We were bid to a river-party, not to be preached 'Jhev build no fences, holding their watery inheritance undi- 
at. They thrust themselves obtrusively out of the narrative, v i(] e "d. Bcvond all other living things they mind their own 
like those quarries of red glass which the Bowery dandies business. They have not degenerated to the necessity of 
(emulous of Sisyphus) push laboriously before them as breast- rc form, swallowing no social pills, but living quietly on each 
pins. other in a true primitive community. They are vexed with 

Before we get through the book, we begin to feel as if the n o theories of the currency which go deeper than the New- 
author had used the term week, as the Jews did the number foundiand Banks. Nimium fortanati / AVe wish Mr. Thoreau 
forty, for an indefinite measure of time. It is quite evident would undertake a report upon thcin as a private enterprise, 
that we have something more than a transcript of his fluviatile It would be the most delightful book of natural history extant, 
experiences. The leaves of his portfolio and river-journal seem Mr. Thoreau's volume is the more pleasant that with all its 
to have been shuffled together with a trustful dependence on fresh smell of the woods, it is yet the work of a bookish man. 
some overruling printer-providence. Wc trace the lines of "We not only hear the laugh oi the flicker, and the watchman's 
successive deposits as plainly as on the sides of a deep cut, or rattle of the red squirrel, but the voices of poets and philoso- 



rather on those of a trench carried through made-land in the 
city, where choiceness of material has been of less import than 
suitableness to fill up, and where plaster and broken bricks 
from old buildings, oyster-shells, and dock mud have been shot 
pellmell together. Yet wc must allow that Mr. Thoreau's 
materials are precious, too. His plaster has bits of ancient 
symbols painted on it, his bricks arc stamped with mystic sen- 
tences, his shells arc of pearl-oysters, and his mud from the 
Sacramento. 

"Give me a sentence," prays Mr. Thoreau bravely, "which 
no intelligence can understand!" — and we think that the 
kind gods have nodded. There are some of his utterances 
which have foiled us, and we belong to that class of beings 
which he thus reproachfully stigmatizes as intelligences. Wc 
think it must be this taste that makes him so fund of the Hin- 
doo philosophy, which would seem admirably suited to men, if 
men were only oysters. Or is it merely because, as he na- 
ively confesses in another place, " his soul is of a bright invis- 
ible ://•<■<■// " * AVe would recommend to Mr. Thoreau some of 
the Welsh sacred poetry. Many of the Triads hold an infi- 
nite deal of nothing, especially after the bottoms have been 
knocked out of them by translation. But it seems ungrateful 
to find fault with a book which has given us so much pleasure. 
AVe have eaten salt (Attic, too,) with Mr. Thoreau. It is the 
hospitality and not the fare which carries a benediction with 
it. and it is a sort of ill breeding to report any oddity in the 
viands. His feast is here and there a little savage, (indeed, 
lie professes himself a kind of volunteer Redman,) and we 
must make out with the fruits, merely {riving a sidelong "lance 
at the baked dog and pickled missionary, and leaving them in 
grateful silence. 

AVe wish the General Court had been wise enough to have 
appointed our author to make the report on the Ichthyology 



phcrs. old and new. There is no more reason why an author 
should reflect trees and mountains than books, which, if they 
arc in an}' sense real, are as good parts of nature as an / other 
kind of growth. AVe confess that there is a certain charm for 
us even about a fool who has read myriads of books. There 
is an undcfmahlc atmosphere around him, as of distant lands 
around a great traveller, and of distant years ar-.-und vcr old 
men. But we think that Mr. Thoreau sometimes makes a bad 
use of his books. Better things can be got out of Herbert 
and Vaughan and Donne than the art of making bad verses. 
There is no harm in good writing, nor do wisdom and philosv 
phy prefer crambo. Mr. Thoreau never learned bad ihymin^ 
of the river and the sky. lie is the more culpable us he haj 
shown that he can write poetry at once melodious and distinct, 
with rare delicacy of thought and feeling. 

"My life is like a stroll npon the beach, 
As near the ocean's edge ns I can go, 
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o'erreach, 
'Sometimes I stay to let them overflow. 

"My sole employment 't is, and scrupulous rare, 
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides, 
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare, 
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides. 

"I have but few companions on the shore. 

They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea, 
Yet oft I think the ocean they 'vc sailed o'er 
Is deeper known upon the strand to roe. 

" The middle sea contains no crimson dnlse, 
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view, 
Alon^ the shore my hand is on its pulse. 
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew." 

If Mr. Emerson choose to leave some hard nuts for poster- 
ity to crack, he can perhaps afford it as well as any. AVe 
counsel Mr. Thoreau, in his own words, to take his hat and 



1849 50 

come out of that. If he prefer to put peas in his shoes when 
he makes private poetical excursions, it is nobody's affair. But 
if the public arc to go along -with him, they will find some way 
to boil theirs. 

"We think that Mr. Thoreau, like most solitary men, exag- 
gerates the importance of his own thoughts. The " I " occa- 
sionally stretches up tall as Pompey's pillar over a somewhat 
flat and sandy expanse. But this has its counterbalancing 
advantage, that it leads him to secure many a fancy and feeling 
which would flit by most men unnoticed. The little confidences 
of nature which pass his neighbours as the news slip through 
the grasp of birds perched upon the telegraphic wires, he 
received as they were personal messages from a mistress. Yet 
the book is not solely excellent as a Talbotypc of natural 
scenery. It abounds in fine thoughts, and there is many a 
critical oh'dcr didum which is good law, as what he says of 
Raleigh's style. 

" Sir Walter Raleigh might well be studied if only for the 
excellence of his style, for he is remarkable in the midst of so 
many masters. There is a natural emphasis in his style, like a 
man's tread, and a breathing space between the sentences, which 
the best of modern writing does not furnish. His chapters are 
like English parks, or say rather like a western forest, where the 
larger growth keeps down the underwood, and one may ride on 
horseback through the openings." 

Since we have found fault with some of what we may be 
allowed to call the worsification, we should say that the prose 
work is done conscientiously and neatly. The style is compact 
and the language has an antique purity like wine grown color- 
less with age. There arc passages of a genial humor inter- 
spersed at fit intervals, and we close our article with one of 
them by way of grace. It is a sketch 'which would have 
delighted Lamb. 

" I can just remember an old brown-coated man who was the 
"Walton of this stream, who had come orer from Newcastle, 
Kngland, with his son, the latter a stout and hearty man who had 
lifted an anchor in his day. A straight old man he was who took 
his way in silence through the meadows, having passed the period 
of communication with his fellows ; his old experienced coat 
hanging long and straight and brown as the yellow pine bark, 
glittering with so much smothered sunlight, if you stood near 
enough, no work of art but naturalized at length. I often discov- 
ered him unexpectedly amid the pads and the gray willows when 
he moved, fishing in some old country method, — for youth and 

age then went a fishing together, — full of incommunicable 
thoughts, perchance about his own Tyne and Northumberland, 
lie was always to be seen in serene afternoons haunting the 
river, and almost rustling with the sedge ; so many sunny boors 
in an old man's life, entrapping silly fish, almost grown to be the 
sun's familiar; what need had he of hat or raiment any, having 
served out his time, and seen through such thin disguises? I 
have seen how his coeval fates rewarded him with the veDow 
perch, and yet I thought his luck was not in proportion to his 
years ; and I have seen when, with slow steps and weighed down 
with aged thoughts, he disappeared with his fish under his Jot- 
roofed house on the skirts of the village. I think nobody else 
saw him ; nobody else remembers him now, for he soon after died, 
and migrated to new Tyne streams. His fishing was not a sport, 
nor solely a means of subsistence, but a sort of solemn sacrament 
and withdrawal from the world, just as the aged read their bibles." 



1850 

JEsthctic Papers, edited by Elizabeth B. Peabody. 
Boston: K. 1'. lYabody. [i860] 

Here is a pleasant pamphlet to carry up into the coun- 
try, and read uu,lor the elm-lrccs. It contains many 
things to admin — some to smile at — and a few that to 
plain understandings will appear absurd. Anion;; its 
papers is an article on Criticism, hy Mr. S. G. Want ; 
another on Music, hy Mr. Dwishl ; another on Lansunge, 
by Miss Peabody: one upon "Genius, hy Mr. S.-ltecd ; 
one u|>on Organization, hy I'arke Godwin ; besides 
others which wo shall more distinctly mention. Some 
verses arc interspersed, the most striking of which arc 
extracted from a former writer, named l\>|>c. 

Another year will just complete a century since fiaum- 
srartcn commenced the publication of hi> .Esthetics, at 
Frankfort on the Odor. When one considers how much 
has been lionc since 1730, in the way of political revolu- 
tions, steamships, railroads, cotton manufactures, chloro- 
form, and California!) discoveries, it certainly does not 
seem a very great stride from Professor Bauingarteu's 
book to Miss" lVabody'*. As yet, .Esthetics have not 
done much. Aiuvs'.heties — in surgical parlance— have 
effected, during these two or three past years, far more 
good for man and womankind. 

Yet we would fain disclaim all kin with those practi- 
cal cm' bono people who demand that metaphysical and 
intangible things should be trip-hammered and rolled out 
with as much expedition as iron rails, to supply the pub- 
lic need. It is something of a stop, after all, to have crot 
a new word. The term is a useful one— a new tool for 
Truth to work with. Those who do not believe in phre- 
nology, are yet convinced that there is an acquisitiveness, 
an ideality. Vt cetera. Therefore let us not throw away- 
old Dr. Baumgarten's phrase, hit sec what hereafter 
thinkers may make of it. Miss Peabody sums up her 
use of it in this explication : — 

"The word a'sthetie is difficult of definition, because 
it is the watchword of a whole revolution in criticism. 
Like whig and lory, it is the standard of a party ; ittnarks 
the progress of an' idea. It is a watchword. We i:>e it 
to designate in our department that phase in human prog- 
ress which subordinates the individual to the general, 
that he may reappear on a hiriicr plane of individu- 
ality." 

There are some articles in this pamphlet that do not 
seem naturally included in the a'. .>ve explanation. Em- 
erson's Essay on War is an excellent and ihousrhtfii] 
disquisition, that is not addressed only to readers within 
the Eleusiinan paleof a sect. It is a paper of great m-rit. 
aud, like that of Miss Peabody upon the " Dorian Meas- 
ure," cannot fail to detain the t\e of all who admire 
Emerson, or who are glad to frosl.cn their remembrance 
of Muller. 

The most charming thing in the book, however, is a 
retrospection by Hawthorne, ca'.'- J ■_' Main Street." It 
is an exceedingly natural and pvtical picture oi the 
growth of said street, in Salem, from the first faintiy 
traced forest-path, through all its changes of primitive 
woodland silence, the early settlor's hut, the thickening 
cottages of the crowing colony, the close-built wealthy 
town — down to the modern splendor of the same thorough- 
fare, "from Butfum's Corner downward, on the nizh". of 
the grand illumination for Genera! Taylor's triumph.'' 

To say nothing of the skill and humor with which the 
machinery of the" piece is managed, the scenes are exqui- 
sitely drawn, and colored as only a true poet could paint. 
If Irving is our Addison. Hawihcne is our Goldsmith, 
or rather our Charles Lamb, for ii? combines the humor 
and the tenderness of both, with r.o common or coekr.ey 
feeiinz for the beauty and the glory of nature. 

We must dismiss "Mr. Thoreau. with an earnest prayer 
lhat he may become a bettor subject, in time, or else U-.kc 
a trip to France, and preach his doctrine of '■ Re.<i?!jnce 
to Cicil Gorernmcr.t " to the red republicans. Of Mi's 
Peabody's poetry we have little tu remark, save thil we 
wonder'how so good an Italian Scholar, as she is reputed, 
should venture io "east a eonfr.ess o'er Cocytu's e-.'oir." 
without shuddering at the recollection of that icy realm in 
Hades— Ore Coc:'.'J la frcJdarj. sirra.—Uoston Courier. 



1 Acio Work nn Italy. 

It is announced that the late Mi« Marzarel Fuller, n<".-. 
■lylcd in the Tribune the Marchioness O.-soli, liiiv ;, 
.cork in preparation on the recent revolutions in Iialy. 
It will probably be published before the close of the win- 
ter, simultaneously in New York and London. Thr 
same paper adds : " We have some reason to expect her 
return to this country next summer, accompanied by btt 
husband and child." 



1850 



From Morris anil Willis' Homo Journal. 



EMERSON. 



2-2-50 



The announcement that Mr. Emerson was to 
lecture at the Mercantile Library, a few evenings 
since, was a torpedo touch, even to that most ex- 
hausted and torpid thing on earth, editorial curi- 
osity — for, though the impregnator of a whole 
cycle of Boston mind, and the father of thousands 
of lesser Emersons, he is the most unapproachably 
original and distinct monotype of our day ; and, 
strange to say, we had never, to the best of our 
knowledge, laid eyes upon him. For this unac- 
countable want of recognition and singlification, 
living in the same town, as we were, when Emer- 
son first began to preach and write, and never 
taking the trouble to go and behold him as a proph- 
et, we must own to tardy perceptions — but it 
was doubtless due to his belonging to a sect which 
we supposed had but one relish, and which led us 
to dismiss what we heard of him, of course, with 
the idea that he was but a new addition to the pre- 
vailing Boston beverage of Channing-and-water. 

The eye sometimes reverses, and always more 
or less qualifies, the judgment formed without its 
aid ; and we were very much disappointed, on 
arriving at the hall, to find the place crowded, and 
no chance of a near view of the speaker. The only 
foothold to be had was up against the farthest wall, 
and a row of unsheltered gas-lights blazed between 
us and the pulpit, with one at either ear-tip of the 
occupant, drowning the expression of his face com- 
pletely in the intense light a little behind it. To 
look at him at all was to do so with needles 
through the eyes ; and we take the trouble to define 
this, by way of a general protest against the un- 
shaded gas-burners of the Tabernacle, Stuyvesant 
Institute, and other public rooms — where "an oph- 
thalmia is very likely to be added to the bad air 
and hard scats with which the " evening's enter- 
tainment" is presented. 

The single look we were enabled to give Air. 
Emerson, as the applause announced that he had 
come into the pulpit, revealed to us that it was a 
man we had seen a thousand times, and with whose 
face our memory was familiar ; though, in the 
sidewalk portrait-taking by which we had treas- 
ured his physiognomy, there was so little resem- 
blance to the portrait taken from reading him, that 
we should never have put the two together, prob- 
ably, except by personal identification. We re- 
member him perfectly, as a boy whom we used to 
see playing about Chaunoey Place and Summer- 
street — one of those pale little moral-sublimes, with 
their shirt collars turned over, who arc recognized 
by Boston school-boys as having " fathers that arc 
Unitarians" — and though he came to his first 
short hair about the time that we came to our first 
tail-coat, six or eight years behind us, we have 
never lost sight of him. In the visits we have 
made to Boston, of late years, we have seen him in 
the street, and remembered having always seen him 
as a boy — very little suspecting that there walked, 
in a form long familiar, the deity of an intellectual 
altar, upon which, at that moment, burned a fire in 
our bosom. 

Emerson's voice is up to his reputation. It has 
a curious contradiction, which we tried in vain to 
analyze satisfactorily — an outwardly repellant and 
inwardly reverential mingling of qualities, which a 
musical composer would despair of blending into 
one. It bespeaks a life that is half contempt, half 
adoring recognition, and very little between. But 
it is noble, altogether. And what seems strange 
is to hear such a voice proceeding from such a 
body. It is a voice with shoulders in it which 



51 
he has not — with lungs in it far larger than hi 
with a walk in it which the public never see — with 
a fist in it which his own hand never gave him the 
model for — and with a gentleman in it which his 
parochial and " bare-neccssarics-of-life" sort of 
exterior gives no other betrayal of. We can 
imagine nothing in nature — (which seems, too, to 
have a type for everything) — like the want of cor- 
respondence between the Emerson that goes in at 
the eye and the Emerson that goes in at the ear. 
We speak, (as we explained,) without having had 
an opportunity to study his face — acquaintance with 
features, as everybody knows, being like the 
peeling of an artichoke ; and the core of a face, to 
those who know it, being very unlike the eight or 
ten outside folds that stop the eye in the beginning. 
But a heavy and vase-like blossom of a magnolia, 
with fragrance enough to perfume a whole wilder- 
ness, which should be lifted by a whirlwind and 
dropped into a branch of an aspen, would not seem 
more as if it never could have grown there, than 
Emerson's voice seems inspired and foreign to his 
visible and natural body. Indeed, (to use one of 
his own similitudes,) his body seems " never tn 
have broken the umbilical cord" which held it to 
Boston, while his soul has sprung to the adult 
stature of a child of the universe, and his voice is 
the utterance of the soul only. It is one of his fine 
remarks, that " it makes a great difference to the 
force of any sentence whether a man is behind it or 
uo" — but, without his voice to make the ear stand 
eurety for his value, the eye would look for the 
first time on Emerson and protest his draft on 
admiration, as not " payable at sight." 

The first twenty sentences, which we heard, 
betrayed one of the smaller levers of Emerson's 
power of style which we had not detected in read- 
ing him. He works with surprises. A man who 
should make a visit of charity, and, after express- 
ing all proper sympathy, should bid adieu to the 
poor woman, leaving her very grateful for his kind 
feelings, but should suddenly return, after shutting 
the door, and give her a guinea, would produce 
just the effect of his most electric sentences. You 
do not observe it in reading, because you withhold 
the emphasis till you come to the key-word. But, 
in delivery, his cadences tell you that the meaning 
is given, and the interest of the sentence all over, 
when — flash ! — comes a single word or phrase, like 
lightning after listened-out thunder, and illuminates 
with astonishing vividness, the cloud you have 
striven to see into. We can give, perhaps, a par- 
tial exemplification of it, by a description rather 
than a quotation of a droll and graphic sketch 
which he drew in his lecture, of his first impression 
of Englishmen on the road. The audience had 
already laughed in two or three places, and — with 
the intention to be longer attended to on that point 
quite gone out of his eyes — he was fumbling with 
his manuscript to look for the next head — when the 
closing word, just audible, threw us all into a fit 
of laughter. " The Englishman" (if we may 
paraphrase rather than quote, for it is impossible to 
recall the subtle collocation oi his words) "dresses 
to please himself. He puts on as many coats, 
trousers and wrappers as he likes, and, while he 
respects others' rights, is unaffected by, and uncon- 
scious of, the observation of those around him. H» 
is an island as England is. He is a bulky sod 
sturdy mass, with his clothes built up about his 
body, and he lives in, thinks in, and speaks from, 

his building." To the listener, this last word, 

which was dug out, smelted, coined and put away 
to be produced and used with cautious and artistio 
effectiveness, seems an accident of that moment's 
suggestion — as new a thing to the orator as to 



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1850 

herself on tliat litilo island." lie said, " like the 
banyan tree, and her roots have spread vmler the 
sea, and come up on far airsy continents and in every 
quarter of the world, fiowerinjr with her lanjruajre 
and laws, and forever perpetuating her, though the 
fir^t trunk dismember and perish." In his own 
words, this thought will have as banyan an eternity 
us England. — A*. P. Wiliis. 




— — Ememon handles things without glove*, 
M •very body knows. He has climbed above 
tbe atmosphere of this world and kicked awaj 
the ladder — holding no deferential communi- 
cation, that is to say, with any of the interme- 
diate ladder-rounds or degrees of goodness. 
If he descends at all, it is quite to the ground, 
otherwise he is out of reaoh — up with the Sa- 
viour or down with Lasarus and his sores. 
We intended, in the present number of our 
paper, to have given a careful illustration of 
this— in some remarks upon Mr. Emerson's 
last lecture and his works— but head and 
hand oat of condition for a few days, has pre- 
vented this, as it will account, (to subscriber* 
and correspondents,^ for other short-comings 
of oar bespokan time and pen. We only 
wish, just now, to record, before we lose hold 
of it, «n instance of the boldness with which 
Mr. Emerson speaks, from his super-atmos- 
p h e j tc elevation— instructing our readers, at 
too tame time, an to his view of the princj- 
pU is* Hii i i Bissau m %o vigorously it worje 
MHMus. 

As among the "Signs of the Times" - (which 
formed the subject of his Lecture) ho spoke 
with reverential admiration of the Apostlc- 
ehips of Fourier and Owen— landing thuee 
reformers so highly indeed, as to draw a mur- 
mur of eatisfaction from tho Listen-to-reason- 
dom which formed the greater part of his au- 
dience, and hisses* from the few believers in 
things as they are who had been brought thi- 
ther by curiosity. Of the main Socialist aim, 
to distribute the means of human happiness 
more equally, he apparently could not speak 
admiringly cnougl;— but he scouted, very em- 
phatically, the possibility of any general com- 
munity of existence, as a destruction of the 
poetry of individual nnd family separation, 
and as altogether " culinary and mean." Le- 
vel all men, he said, and they would com- 
mence to uncqualize to-morrow — those who 
had once got the upper hand in wealth and 
power being able and likely to get it again 
The similitude with which he illustrated the 
impossibility of coinmonixin'g and equalizing 
great men. a* well as the less gifted and ordi- 
nary, will be enough to complete the reader's 
idea of Emerson's extent of belief in Social- 
ism, while at the same time it makes an easily 
remembered frame on which to embroider the 
stray threads of its argument and progress. 
" Spoons and skimmers, said he, " you can 
make lie undistinguishably together — but 
vases and statues require each a pedestal for 
itself.'* 

We went early, to get a seat where we 
could see Emerson, and were struck with the 
character of his audience, most of whom we 



knew by repute. We doubt whether any man 
but the lecturer could draw together so va- 
ried an assemblage, and yet probably none 
were there who hud not a point of contact 
with the mind they came to enjoy. Mr. 
Charles King was there with his combined 
likeness to Aristotle and Epicurus ; Mrs. Kirk- 
land with her fine-chiselled aristocratic fea- 
tures and warm bright eye, Mr. Andrew 
Jackson Davis, the Revelations-man, looking 
as if thought had never left a foot-print on 
his apprentice face; Miss Sedgwick, with 
thought nnd care stranded on the beach of her 
countenance by the ebb of youth , Mr. Greeley, 
with his face fencod in by regularity and cul- 
ture while the rest of him is left " in open 
common ;" half a dozen of the men who live 
for committees and influence ; six or eight of 
the artists who are painting away the time 
till the millennium comes; several unapprecia- 
ted poets ; one or two strong-minded wealthy 
man who are laying up a reserve of intellect 
against what Capt. Cuttle calls a " rewarse" , 
and, as well as we could see, few or no ordi- 
nary people. If Emerson would come to New- 
York, and invito just that audience to gather 
around him, and form a congregation of Listen- 
ers to reaseo, with or without a pulpit, we are 
very sure that he might become the centre of 
a very well-chosen society — form it into a 
club or gather it around a pulpit. Either 
way, New- York is the place for him, we think 



The Second Courie of Lectures before the Mer 
•annle Library Association was opened last evoning bj 
Mr. R. W.Emerson with a deeply interesting and Instruct- 
ive lecture on England. At au early hour tlie hall was filled 
to II* whole extent, and before the close of the eveuiug c 
large number weie obliged to go from the door without 
obtaining admission. 

Mr. Emerson said that having visited England on !«-■■ 
successive occasion*), and liaving uot long since returned 
from an extensive lour in thai country, he should freely re- 
late the impressions that were left on his mind. On landing 
iu Liverpool for the first time, 110 one can avoid un emotion 
of surpnse, and the inquiry 1* unvested w hat has made 
England what it is. 

Everv thing bears the marks of the most triumphant sue 
cess The highest cultivation in every sphere is presented 
to the spectator. It seems like the kingdom and chosen home 
of common sense. The fields look as if the sod had been 
turned with a pencil, Instead ot a plough. You are carried 
from place to place aa if riding on a cannon ball. You are 
surrounded with every form of convenience and luxury, 
the material wants are provided for iu a stylo ot artistic 
perfection, that can be produced only by yeurs of cultiva- 
tion and experience*. It is uo wonder thst Laiidor remark- 
ed "No one would live tu a new country, who could livt 
in an old one" You are suiruundcd wiui the remains i,t 
past ages. The achievements of remunea are made li- 
near on the passing comforts of the day. 

When the Amencau first puts Ins foot on English toil, lie 
seems to have returned to some lost, torgotten horns,. Tie- 
pictures winch amused ins childhood are here presented in 
reality, He sees the same ruddy, happy, portly, bemgua-.t 
gruujfatherly Englishmen, whose portraits he studied vu 
the riles of the chimney corner, lie has got back among 
iiis frion, Is, aud finds bis uncles, auuls, cuusius, and grand- 
fathers on the spot to meet him. 

England may justly boast of her choicely cultivated pop 
ulation. No people on earth can compare with her in thi- 
respecl. Jn tile midst ot the social evils which portenliouslv 
rear their heads on high, wo aee a great number of wcii- 
devoloped human beings, highly tiutsliod men. rounded, 
complete, consummate characters In their sphere, of whit I 
auy nation might juaUybu proud. 



1850 

If we look for Uie causes ot this remarkable flowerine; 
forth of humanity, we must ascribe a great influence m the 
climate. Every day n a working day There is no Winter 
la break off the operations of industry. 

The beat blood of Europe is mingled m the veins of In-- 
land. The cross between the Bnions and Saxons u us a 
fortunate one. Alter that, the Northern nations ponre.i the 
Tr? "SP" 1 * of tn ''' r constitutions into the Iraine of the Knp- 
llah. This blending of races has produced a physical vi«,-oi 
ana perfection uiat may be looked lor elsuw here in vuln.— 
The English, as a geuerol rule, weigh more, aro better pro 
portioned, more florid, and handsomer than onv other peo- 
ple. V'ou aee this in all classes, Irom tho peer ti> tbe porte.. 

The dreaa of the English is embleuumc of their charactei . 
It has two prevailing styles, the lorlolse and Die supple. Iu 
one the person Is encased in his clothing us in a shell, ami 
looks the uiature of defiance. But nowhere is there such u 
variety of costume. A man washes and shaves, and wears 
lus hair in a way to suit himself, and not others. He mav 
put on a coat, or wig, er a ahawi, or a saddle— no one «iii 
remark upon li. iie has bis own way, so he does not ann<.\ 
others. The EngUshman Is remarkable for his pluck. He 
shows you Lbat he means to have his rights respected tie 
knows just what he wants, and he means to have a lluis 
sure to let it be knowu if he is uot served to his iiund. Stili 
l.u is not quarrelsome. Amoug the twelve hundred young 
men at Oxford, a duel was never known to take place. 1J ,. 
sell possession is not pugnacity. He does nut wish to in 
Jure otiiers, he thinking only ol hluiself. The axis of his 
eyes Is united to his buck bone. 

Wiuj such a sturdy population, Knitland is not likely in 
break up She now contaius tho essential elements if 
growth. Her cities are expanding, her wealth is enlarging, 
die Lundon Universities shooi up in luxuriant prosperity. 
''« our young Colleges at the West. 

The constant presence of a superior class gives a tone to 
the general manners Even inlies are «lotiied with Impor 
|!J ce - Whatever Is done, must be done in ilia host wuy.- 
J he English character ilius gains an admirable balance oi 
qualities, resembling in Us keenness and vigor the best leiu 
J l -™«"1 The fabulous St. Uoorge, the slaver of dragons 
»nd defender ef maidens, Is not the true emblem of the 
tuglish people. We. are to bud ihat rather m thelaw- 
pv» r , scholar, |>oet, mechanic monarch King Alfred In 
5 * r "mes, we see a noble exhibition of die same type m 
"liver Cromwell. Another model Englishman was Wil- 
liam ot Wyckhem, whose institutions, established so many 
centuries sm*e, remain to this day. lis provided that at a 
cert*!,, house* phsce of bread and a draught of beer should 
"" given free ol charge to w hoever should ask for It— a pro 
Vision which Is soil iu lorce, aa Mr. Emersou tested b\ his 
own expeneucu. . 

w.£! J< r'i?, ,> '" ,n ,en » c ''y compares fovorabiy with the Amer- 
£1_ *° y ' ln '''" bouse, in his office, in lus eounline 

,e n ,'i y ° U always know when lo find die Englishman 

f n "; 't must be contested i|, al |„, character has taken a 
materialistic shape, and is loft to the spiritual, ideal len.len- 
"™°J * e Elizabethan age. The English have uo lasie for 
•peewsflon, (except La atovk*,) lor pbUeeoplsy, lot Hie ujgsi 



rldirT.nH ¥^r 1 J^•* to • lJ •^ ,)oeU '^ , ■ Hor WTlu '™ "*• tole- 
rwge and Wordsworth And a more cordial appreciation In 
Ibis country than at homo. .op.ocunson in 

Mr E. accompanied his descriptions with a great variety 
of striking illustratmna, whlchcan no more be reported than 
he. eolors of the sunset. We have given only a meager out 
line of some few of his leading remarks, regreltingihai we 
naveuonsjrn for an extended uccounl of a lecture which 
W JEki!V*" < o 1 u ' w,ll, unininglol admiration by a distin- 
guished audience. 



LATTEO-DAY T RUTH 3.... Pot The Tribune. 



■ T JOJtrW ■> (MAM. 

CaBLlXE, the 8cotc-Germanle Essayist, In his new pub- 
lication, called " Latter-Day Tract*," refer* to the Influence 
ef youth o* the ereeent age. Boy*, almost children, be 
•ay*, are the arcbiiccts of Revolution. And from this fact, 
tie conclude* ihat the age 1* not what It anoold be— that pre- 
cocity In siatcs, a* In men, I* a herald of decay. I differ 
from die illustrious Ilea* TevrELiDaoCK, and belle-re that 
good will result from Ihat very leaven of youth which be 
dreads. Indeed, the essayist niter* one tree aphorism t 
"The world cannot remsln aa It 1*, and mutt be renewed." 
and toward ihia renewal tbe rigor of rooaff men I* I 
•JJ Ihlags neeassary 

Mother Karth is Browing old, 
And her wiry poise is cold, 
A* the Winter-covered wold. 

A* tho decdful Past re-cedes, 
Fingering still her ancient beads, 
Mumbling over old-time creeds — 

Not fir son!, bnt purse, she prays. 
Com'* with i-oiu the prieoleas days. 
Clinging to her olden ways ; 

As in immemorial t'mes. 
Jarring Nature's choral chimes. 
With the clmking of the dimes- 
All her years by Costom carat, 
Kvcn the last is like the lirst, 
Monarchs chain her soul as erst ; 

St iU a theme fur Heaven's emprise, 
8wa\e<l and ruled by foolish cries, 
Shibboleths of tbe little-wise. 

And the men who break their rules. 
Scattering dust in dotard-schools, 
Tbey are ever branded " Cool* I" 

Surry Galileo came. 

Spake his truths with lips of flame i 

- Fool" was added to his name. 



1850 



All that Fociuir suffered, taught — 
Worshiping the •• grand word OUGHT,"* 
Bat tbe charge of lolly brought. 

Coartien with their mockings frees* 
Him who sought beyond die «ou— 
Bought and found Hcsperides ; 

As Coi.umdus passes by, 
Heodlcss of their luxury, 
"See the dreamer" U their cry. 

Even Christ, the Fathor*s Blest, 
Clasping Sulfeiing to his breast. 
Wore a fooi's-oap, like the rest 

Bat the tortures pass away, 
And the Great, whom all obey, 
Wore the " fools" of yesterday .t 

And, O, Sage I some "fools" remain. 
Tagging still at Custom's chain — 
Striving still throagh toil and pain — 

Heedless of the Tyrant's mth, 
S|>eaking words of fearless truth, 
'TiU the world renew its youth. 

Warring on the Social sin, " 

Careless of the Doaih machine. 

Halter, Axe, or Guillotine. — 

Students, Young Men, " fools," and "boys," -° 

Scorning etvldiah tricks and toys, 

Shajining Manhood's dearest joys, J* 



to 



O 

to 

I 

o 

CO 

I 

CO 



Leave the clinking gold to Age, 

To the counterfeited Sag*, 

And turn in life a different page; 

Hroorina by no Human light, 

Tim.' Time's long and dismal night. 

But by stars lor ever bright. 

Excelsior I our day is come ; 
Forward to our Future homei 
Shkllt's grand Millenium.) 



Tills striking phrase la Emebson's. 

?I am Indebted to a beautiful lyric of Btuscn'i, ad- 
dressed to KnvaiEB, for the idea expressed la ibeee lines. 

t" O, hsppy Earib. reality of Hi»i»i " This line op»»i 
the gorgeous ptcima of Humanity's Kuiure, bequeathed by 
the poet u> oilier days. 



Carlyle Criticised. 



53 

thing with clearness, it is in this age the rapid de- 
sertion of centers Inr oircamferences ; theobhteia 
tion of ranks in that hierarchical ladder which 
•nee led to Qod i the general fatigue with every- 
thing after a little time; and the constitution of a 
new ladder, on which the angels do not descend, 
bet fall and dcxe, on their wa> , to be buried at die 
bottom. Look, fur an instance, at the state of all 
problems. The upper stories of investigation are 
tenantleaa. There is no theology left, but it has 
degenerated into precedent anil- ecclesiastical his- 
tory with one set of men; into rationalism aud 
unbelief with another: both sides have given it 
np as a thing far less real than stouea, trees, 
and good dinners. Meantime a lower floor re- 
ceives the fa ling chiefs, and having loft their 
empty heads as useless hardens up stain, they 
find themselves comfortable for a season in some 
metnph)sical, social or sanitary pursu ts. These, 
however, require too much concentration, aud, 
besides, their law is, that they will not be solved 
without recognition be Krst made or the upper pow 
ers, which, yet, the headless cannot make. There 
must, therefore, be antsther descent, perhaps to priv 
ate chanty and laxfx fatre. The Outer nourta of 
these are Bell-congratulation and pastimes of var- 
ious kinds — among others, the pastime of a know- 
ledge as easy as opening the eyes, and which 
ultimately comes to be considered as the chief ob- 
ject of man's intellect. The end of the history ou 
this side is, nil that is least in the ri.Jd ol iho Mi 
croacope — all thnt is remotest in geology — all that 
is unmanliext in organization — nil that is emp- 
tiest in I he million billion trillion sublimity ol 
rholomontade astronomy, fir which G»d's great- 
ness is that of an infinite Dutchman. And then, 
on the practical side, there is what Carlyle calls, 
" Anarchy, plus the Constable." When matters 
arrive at this stage, the centrilugal cowaids sigh 
for new wonda to tumble info; but nature has a 
bottom, and the Devil himself resists their fall, for 
his own integrity's sake. 

At this hoitom we are now arrived, according to 
Cnrlyle, and hero, work we must. It is true, the 
difficulties— now that we hnve got to our last hm - 
—are luimsnss. The San was oar center and 
problem «ue« i the sand of the sea represents It 
now. All the questions deserted at the top, come 
ovor again at the bottom, aud to men who are not 
as men but as grasshoppers. They come also in 



orms which have nothing to do with eternity but 
Wo extract from a private letter from a diatio- with the least portions ol Time's sand-glass The 
g-oished literary mac of London, whose com muni 
cations have often delighted the readers of The 



Tribune, the following brilliant and appreciative 
notice of Carlyle's last work, which has excited so 
much attention on both aides of the Atlantic : 

I suppose )ou have read No. I of Carlyle's Isit 
Ur-Day i'a-mpkUin. These, in their mode of pub- 
lication (a shilling number monthly, or occasionally) 
not loss than lu their matter, mark the beginning 
of a new state of things. Carlyle is talking not to 
bookish men alono, but to everybody, in Aw impres- 
sive way. It is prrhaps the first time that a groat 
serious lellow of the kind bss come down into the 
cheap and easy Gold, to say that there are other 
shillingsworths beside novels and romances. I see 
importance in the fact of this burly bully deciding 
to walk on the same wo,lk with the literaii and the 
lightheaded and light fingered people of tbe press. 
The thin folk, as they psss him, will look down 
with painful askance at his big stick. 

Opinion seems scarcely to have formed itself as 
to these present labors of his. I do not know what 
the majority of the journals say, but iw those no- 
tices which I have seen — and they are very few — 
it is quite evidei.t that Thomas is bandlod ginger- 
ly, as though he were a hot horse-shoe. They are 
in pain so fur as they know anything about him: 
they look at him on his own ground with pained 
backs. The instinct of self preservation will keep 
journalism, wlioae present broath is idleness, from 
considering a man who must either be repelled by 
great activity of brain and fancy, or he will begin 
to outlaw the said journalism from the hearts and 
homes of honest men. Ho proclaims from the 
housetop that there is a new work to be done, and 
"Sat we must find out new ways — new arts and 
.w/eoces — of doinu- it. lu truth he asks too mitchol 
an age in which brain-work has become almost 
impossible; in which glibness is the substitute lor 
struggle; in which the running away of the mind 
into ondlessuese and microscopy, is protended to 
be better than the o'd ways of girding up the loins, 
compressing the lips, and grasping stair or sword 
for either hght or pilgrimage. If I discern any- 



question is not whether we are to live lorever, bu 
bow we are to get oar next uesl, and where we 
shall sleep to-night. Plato might talkofibeim 
mortality of the soul, seeing that it hail a lease of 
70 years, and naturally wished to extend the term. 
We are tenants at will from moment to in nietit, 
and have to arraoge, by every curious means, how 
to be immortal tor the nrxt week. There is not a 
clergyman extant who can show this Hov ; and 
how, therefore, on our side, shall we listen to them 
ol the larger problem 7 They do not tell us this 
either. 

Nobody seems to apprehend the situation so 
ripely as Carlyle; in the whole sick body ol society 
he is the burning boil. People accuse him ol gloom, 
fury, exaggeration, U'lsuhthness — and very proper- 
ly, tor he la the sorest place of Europe. It puts 
down its hand, ami whenever it touchos him, gives 
a cry of pain. He and it are the same skin, but 
the brigh inflammation is awake though the groat 
body uneasily seeps on. He summons os all to 
arise, though it bo to tread with lum over the burn- 
ing marl. He tel s us still of wisdom aid duty, but 
ol necessity most of all. ■C*»\J 

Great is the dismay of sll those who deemed 
that human advancement was a necessary growth, 
as of a, tree; lhat if lfiOO whs good, 1830 must bo 
better, and 1900 better anil ; that humanity is alms- 
giving, and trudiful relations identical with un- 
shackle*! competition ofiinlividuals. They are struck 
with heavy facts of non-success following all dicir 
courses, aud thes« fncts turned into Titer's hammer 
in the hands of this rude unsparing Sergeant of 
the Fates. Already, wherever they and become 
into conflict, they are reduced to sing over again 
theirold songs, now as moro tunes without words — 
a most general whine. All their verbal rights go 
for nothing with him ; the British Constitution, 
oncegoo.l, is now pmbablv a humbug — a thing long 
gone to aoed, and rntlior hurtful than alimentary to 
this generation. It has ended in universal lawless 
ness. becoming the law ol the land ) in rn'ers ami 
people disavowing each other; in the relations of 
master and man escaping from the rules of justice, 
and taking up those of trade ; lina ly, in Chartism, 



1850 

want, passion, and all the horrors of great towns 
ancared lor, and country districts unkoowu to civil- 
ization in the most civihied country in Europe. — 
Let DS, therefore, have no m e-e politics, and no 
more rights ; above, all, not a word said of modern 
mercy or progress. 

Csrlyle's rhetorio in this Tract No. 1, is extraor- 
dinary even for him. I reckon that h- has some of 
bis best things to do yet, especially if, throwing olf 
all the people who are at present Ids admirers, and 
so cleaning his person of this live sUa-k. he can 
get the people of England to be his listener. He 
has not yet had the stimulus of Ins listening coun- 
try, bat with that, he might perchance got all his 
indigestions under his feet, ao'l nse yet into healthy 
trumpet notes, fit to lead the poople on in their bat- 
tles again. 

He has, it is true, proposed nothing verv definite 
for the maladies which affect the time, but what 
he has set forth tends to that particular develop- 
ment of Socialism upon which this country may 
probably have to enter sooner or IsXer. Compul- 
sory industrial armies, for clearing bogs, redeem- 
ing wastelands, Ac dec are his recipe for the em 
ploymentofthe pauper population. The dVre»l mini- 
mum appear* to be among his postulates, as tlio 
only condi'ton whereby society can be healthy ; 
and this minimum he would it necessary enforce, 
at all events, provide. Perfect order, obedience. 
in short, slavery for the masses, and their direction 
to works of ose and profit, nnder capable heads, — 
that is his system. You will find it m<«tclearly 
prophesied hy Fourier, under Iho hoad ol CnUective 
Shirery of the M"«»c«, as the end of, and os one is- 
suo from. Civilization. So far, therefore, Cnrlyle is 
doing De«riny's work, which whoso does, floats on 
streams where no other can upset bis bark. This 
is the nnturnl secret of this man's courage and 
pluck, the main qualities in which he overtops 
others. He is the Nloses who emm mom us into the 
Egyptian brickfields of Cnro/npnt. 

Carlylisro, however, is hut one part of the move- 
ment ; nay, until acme initiative is taken, it is as 
much a more scheme as the Phalanstery, or any 
other Entopia. The centrifugal force of the human 
mind, rupturing all relatinna, destroying all |>rob 
lems. making mere elbow ronn to he liberty, and 
setting nu mile stones in God, gives a breadth to 
things whirh will prevent tiiera from ever again 
being grasped by the same hand they escaped 
from; and I believe that the new tyrants must 
have all the philanthropy that Carl) to most dos- 
pises, a scientific genius of which lie has no glim 
mor. ss well as those truculent powers of action 
Ufwin which he has given us some hints in Tract 
No. 1. 



H. W. Emfrson's Lkcture. — In his lecture on 
Murrh 19 at Hep«ChapeL Mr. Emerson gave a brilliant, dls- 
curalve, and oft*n profound d -.saertallon on tba r hurari-r 
and effects of elnnnenea, considered as a raaalfvaradon of 
one nf it,* hlrhext forms of human energy. There was nu 
ore, be aaid, u ho did not feel awed before the mystery of 
the gTeat orator, of a Demosthenes or a Chaihaai. and who 
did not wt».h to penetrate the secret of their marvelous In- 
fluence. Without aiming at any formal analysis of the ora- 
tor's art. Mr I-', presented a great variety of Instance* both 
In BJirient nn4 modem Umoa, showing the effecui of his 
power, and the rllf/v-rent views thai had been chorlah«*d con- 
cerning thn princtplos on which II mated. The recital of 
Homer's dfr-rrlmion of the eloquence of Ulyses was au ef- 
tectlvn *pcr1r*»n of Mr. E.'s pnculUr elocution, and evi- 
dently -mrt*. a ri»-*p Impression on Ibe audience. Near the 
ein«a of hi, -1i,course lie Introduced a striking episode on 
ih„ efTect of the various funauclami of tbe day, In calling 
f<«rth a new nr,l,T Moratory, summoning from their hiding 
places, pi^n IlUe tough and crooked pieces of oak, whom no 
• •>«»*.. alalia, brickbats, •«««. of newspapers rumlil pull 
riowa — who were Invincllile to mohs because Ihey were 
rent., in them*«tv»M — and from stutterers, stammerers, and 
r."fmln?1y dry sMrks were converted into terrible propheu 
of the nord to break up the slumbers of sullty nsllons.— 
The magnetic rfTwi of Mr E upon an InieUVeiual audience 
was vl»ihl,. tlirouutiuut the lecture, which would generally 
t— retarded as one of his m«isi characierlsdc performances 
7h« next l>-ciiir~ of the coorse will be delivered In Hope 
CbaiM-l on Thursday evenlai; next, 



CP" "The Massachusetts Quarterly Hx- 

vifw." (March ) The first article on "Judicial Oaths." msln- 
tains that their entire abolition would be favorable to public 
morality, aud would strengthen the reul securities on wblcb 
the social fabric msta. "Ocrmsn Lyric*," gives some pl*-aj- 
Irj, specimens of translaUons from Schiller, Oerhsrd, Uh- 
liirxl and others. "Two new Trinities" shows up a couple 
of attempts at Improvements on lhat doctrine by certain In- 



1850 

tolloctual adrcmturer* la Masssrtosetts. An article on 
- Ralph Waldo Emerson," by Theodore Patter, 1* equally 
characteristic of the •ub)oe< Bud Iba author. It la written Id 
a tooe of Mroaf enlogluin, lntenulxad with • fewdaihea of 
crlilcal cenanre. The rruthfiiineaa of toe following picture 
frill be reeor. nleed at once i 

While hit Idea la American, the form of fall literature It 
not mi so. It U a form which amis Ibe •ubaiance.and !■ 
modified try the lnailiutlona and natural ol>J»et* annul hlrn. 
You ere tbat Ihe author Uvea In a land wlih tree Instlmtlona, 
with tows-im-emiKa and hnllot bi'Xe* | In Ihe vicinity of a 
decaying, church} anem*; men whi.se terrible devil* are 
Poverty and Social Nuyl-rt, the only devtle wbo«e damna- 
tion la much eared fur HI* ■ eojrraphy la American. Kata- 
Kill and the Alleranlea, Munadnock, Wacliuaeil, and Ihe 
uplanda uf Now-Hainpahlre, appear In poetry or proaei 
Contiretrok and Aulocuook are better than the Ilyaaua, or 
Piictoiaa, or "smooth alldlni Ulnctua, crowned with vr<el 
ret- da." New. York, Pall River, and Lowrll have a place 
In h<a wrltlnita. where a vulgar Yankee would put Thebes 
or Piestum. Bla men and women are American— John and 
Jane, not Gorteltuiua and Peraephoue. He tella ft the rho- 
dora, the club- moea, the blooming clover, not ol the blhtacua 
and ibe asphodel. He knowa ibe bumblebee, ihe black- 
bird, the bat, and ilia wren, and la not aahamed to aay or 
ilnif of Ihe thint* under Ida own ejea. He llluairaiea hia 
Siit-h thuua/ht by common thing* out of our plain New. Eng- 
land I ifr — the meeting In U»e church, Ihe Muudav achoot. a 
bucklelrerry party, the Ituya and glrta haaleulng b"me Irom 
•chool. the' youth In the ahop, le-ylnntiig an iinenus-lrais 
courtship with hla uuheeding cuatumer, the farmeia about 
ihr-tr work In tbo fluids, the Mialllng trader In the citv, Ihe 
rattle, the new hay, the votera at a lown-uioettpg, the village 
brawler In a tavern full uf il pay rlol, the conservative who 
thtnka ihe nation la loat If hla ticket chance to miscarry, the 
bigot worahtplng a knot bole IhrouKh which a duaty beam 
uf Htfbt hua luoked in upon bla darkness, Ibe radical who 
declares that nothing la good If eaabllshed, and the patent 
reformer who screauia lu your ears ttiai he can flnlah Uie 
world with a single touch— and out of all these lie makes 
hla poetry, or tlluatrale* hla philosophy. Now and theu he 
wanders off to oilier lands, repurls what he baa seen, but II 
la always an American report of wbat an American eye 
saw Even Mr. Emet eon's recent exaggerated praise of 
England la auch a paoagyrte at not • but an Americas could 
besuiw 

Mr. P. doea not estimate Emerson's merits aa a poet at a 
very extravagant rata. " la hla poetry Mr Emeraon often 
loaea hia command ol langaago, metaphors fall him, and 
the magnl6cent Image* which adorn and beautify all bla 
prose work* are gone." 

The present number also contains article* on " Pansla- 
vlsm," usd the •' Postal System," beslda " Short Revlewa 
and Notices." (New. York : C. 8. Prsncls it Co ) 



ME. EMERSON'S LECTURES. 

Mr. Emerson conclmleil on Tuesday evening 
of last week, a verv brilliant ami successful 
course of Lectures, in New York. His recep- 
tion has been far more enthusiastic than it ever 
was before in this community ; and we have rare- 
ly seen so splendid a collection of cultivated peo- 
ple, gathered by any public Lectures. 

The reviews, magazines, newspapers, foreign 
and domestic, have made it no small part ol their 
business these few months past, to say their say 
about Mr. Emerson. The enure range of criti- 
cism upon him we judge, would cover the whole 
ground, from Shakspeare down to the latest Lu- 
natic, the Massachusetts Quarterly, representing 
the beginning, and the New York Herald, :be 
end of the scale. And indeed these extremes ac- 
count for each other. Some must adore what 
others curse, and love what others hate, to keep 
the lieain of ihmgs easy. One of the safest 
ways, loo, of spiling a community, is to over- 
value what it underrates. Mr. Emerson seems 
to be used in a good many places, as the wagon 
lull of chain cables is used on board our steam- 
boats, to trim ship. If iho orthodoxy ol a man is 
suspected, let him abuse Mr. Emerson; if his 
liberality is doubled, let bun iraiso him. In 
narrow communities use turn as a wedge ; in 
latitudinarian ones, squeeze htm to death. Per- 
haps it is not strange that Mi. Emerson should 
be the subject of so much personal and extrava- 
gant criticism, pro and con. The fact is ibat 
his mind comprehends to a very extraordinary 
degree generalasand particulars, the absolute and 
Ibe concrete — uniting comprehensiveness and 
aculenesa, the theoretic and tbo practical , and 
that with all his abstractness of thought, no 
man deals more with the immediate and the ac- 
tual. Looking off to the far horizon as it seems, 
we yet feel him sticking his lance directly into 
us, and while sailing over our heads, he is tread- 
ing on our toes. His impersonalities are the most 



54 

personal things in the world. While his themes 
are as broad, remote, cool, as the 1'olar seas, he 
is in fact bestriding the brook that runs by our 
own door — and makes us feel as if he were Irv- 
ing us lor our immediate nenavior ami opinions. 
There never was any preaching more direct and 
pungent ; more aggressive or more provoking. 
This accounts for the feeling he excites. It is 
II personal one — and has the earnestness of poli- 
tics or Sectarianism. And this lias produced ihe 
amount and character of the criticism upon him. 

The interest and charm of Mr. Emerson's 
writings and speech, consist, we think, very 
much in his reproducing a school of thought, 
wild which earlier periods of the world have 
been very familiar, but which various circumstan- 
ces, some good and some bad, have crowded out 
of modern notice. His grand tour deforce, if we 
may so call it, consists in casting himself back of 
ihe Christian era — and behind the light of mod- 
ern civilization and ihe Gospel, and making over 
again the obseivalions which unassisted reason 
then made upon the great phenomena of nature 
and the soul. He introduces his hearer to ihe 
heathen and primitive state of things; strips the 
evangelical skin from the world, strains out Irom 
our common atmosphere, the liospel beams, and 
then delights ns with the excellent morality and 
religion taught by the everlasting laws ol the 
universe. It requires no common genius to do 
this. It is no ordinary service that he thus ren- 
ders. The training a man must go through, to 
get rid of Christian prejudices in this nineteenth 
century, to make himself a good, honest heathen, 
w stand with ihe pre- Adamite man he talks of, 
and look out of pure natural eyes into the sky, 
upon the world, into the soul — this training can- 
not be often looked for, for it is too expensive ; 
and the results of it are likely to be similar to 
Michael Angelo's experience, who Emerson telle 
us could only read by holding the book over his 
head, after he had painted the ceiling of the Sis- 
une Chapel. Mr. Emerson tells us most elo- 
quently, charmingly, instructively, what would 
lie the best possible philosophy of nature and man, 
the liest ethics and religion, if we had no help 
but our own in making them. His views here 
are so new and fresh, that we forget that they 
owe their novelty mainly to a subtraction from 
every moral ;n<l theological opinion and judg- 
ment of precisely that which revealed religion 
has added to them. 

They are not made false by this process ; only 
partial, imperfect, denuded, cold. He gives us 
moral and religious truth out of the moulds of 
Christianity. Most of us never saw it there be- 
fore. He has eaten this unleavened bread, and 
found it life-supporting; and we forget that we 
know it very well, and live upon it, too, with 
the yeast of the Gospel in it. The inference we 
are apt to make, under his views and influence, 
is, tbat if we accept what be says, we must give 
up what he does not say ; and as he says a great 
deal which carries our cordial consent — which 
seems as vitally true as charmingly new — we are 
half- frightened lest we should be coaxed or coz- 
ened out of a faiih which he evidently abjures. 
But if we consider that the peculiarity of his 
mind and views is in what he has not, not in 
what he has — in what he has stripped off, not in 
what he has left — that he allows us the frame 
of things, with, one or two important layers 
dissected off— we can then have the comfort of 
accepting; and enjoying what he says, and still 
hold fast to what he does not say — to oar 
Christian faith and experience. He might never 
have been able to say what he does, if he had 
retained this ; but it is not necessary for us to 
give it up, in order to listen to him with pleasure 
and instruction, or even to agree with him. 

Goethe says, according to the North British 
Review, "that the idea of ancient art, is law , 
ibat of modern art, frledom ; and hence," it 



1850 



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1850 

filament! which ho has drawn from the distnll el' 
lomo muttoring witch on Gallowi Hill, iio derives 
the initio terrible excitement from those legendary 
horrors, as mi drawn by Edgar Poo from the 
depth* of liia own dark and perilom imagination, 
and bringa beforo di picture! of deathlike, bot 
•trangcly fascinating agony, which tire deicribed 
with the lame minuteneai of finish — the same 
slow and fatal accumulation of detail! — the same 
exquiaite coolneia of coloring, while everything 
creepi forward with irresistible certainty to a soul 
harrowing climax which made the last-named 
writer inch a coninmmate maiter of the horrible 
and infernal in fictitious composition. Haw- 
thorne'a tragedios, however, are alwaya motived 
with a wonderful insight and skill, to which the 
intellect of Poe wai a atranger. Id the most ter- 
rific ' enci with which he delight! to scare the 
imagination, Hawthorne doea not wander into the 
region of iho improbable , you scarcely know that 
you »••* in tie primuni'O of the supernatural, nntil 
your breathing bocomes too thick for thla world] 
it is the supernatural relieved, softened, made tol 
erablc, and almost attractive, by a strong admix- 
ture of the human ; you are tempted onward by the 
mild, unearthly light, which seems to ahine upon 
you like a healthful star , you are blindod by no 
lurid glare i yon acquiesce in the necessity of the 
wizard journey , instead of beiog provoked to an- 
ger by a superfluous introduction to the company of 
the .levil and his angels. 

The elements of terror, which Mr. Hawthorne em- 
ploy! with such masterly effect, both in the ori- 
ginal conception of hia character! and the icenei 
of mystery and dread in which they are made to 
act, are blended with auch aweet gushes of natural 
feeling, sash solemn and tender relation! of the 
deepest secret! of the heart, that the pair' . im- 
presnon is greatly mitigated, and the final influence 
of bil most startling creation ii a serene sense of re- 
freshment, without the stupor and bewilderment 
occnioned by a drugged oup of intoxication. 

The "Scarlet Letter," in our opinion, ii the 
greatest production of the author, beautifully dis- 
playing the traits we have briefly hinted at, and 
sustained with a more vigorous reaah of imagina- 
tion, a more lubtle instinct of humanity, and a 
more imposing splendor of portraiture, than any of 
bis most successful previous works. 

On a fair Summer morning in Boston, less than 
two centuries ago, a throng of bearded men, in 
sad colored garments, intermingled with women, 
some wearing hoods and others bareheaded, wai 
assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of 
which was heavily timbered with oak, and itudded 
with iron spikes. The door of the jail wai flung 
open, and the town-beadle italked forth, like, a 
black shadow emerging into the sunshine, with a 
•word by his side, and bis staff of office in bis 
hand. He was followed by a young woman, bear 
ing in her arms a child, a baby of some three 
months old, who winked and turned aside its little 
face from the too vivid light of day, because it had 
hitherto been acquainted only with the gray twi- 
light of a dungeon, or other darkiome apartment 
of the priion. On the breast of ber gown, in fine 
red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroid- 
ery and fantastic flouriihei of gold thread, appear- 
ed the letter A. Thii woman, tall, with a figure 
of perfect elegance, on a large scale, her dark and 
abundant bair so glossy that it threw off the sun- 
shine with a gleam, and ber face, beautiful from 
regularity of feature and richness of complexion, 
made still more impressive by her deep black eyei 
and commanding brow, was Hester Prynne. Her 
appearance was unmiatakeably lady like, according 
to the standard of female gentility in those days, 
characterised by a certain stately dignity rather 



55 
than by the delicate and evanescent grace of more 
recent times. Never did abe appear more lady- 
like, in the antique sense of the term, than as ihe 
came from the orison. Those who expected to see 
her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, 
wore astonished to perceive bow ber beauty shone 
out and made a halo of the misfortune and igoo 
miny in which ibe wai enveloped. Her attire 
wiiii h she had wrought for the occasion in prison, 
seemed to express the desperate reckleasness of 
her spirit by its wild and picturesque peculiarity. 
Tbe point which drew all eyes, and as it were, 
transfigured the wearer, was that Scaklkt Lkt- 
tkr so fantastically embroidered and llluminatud 
upon her boaum. It had the elloct of a spell, 
taking her out of the ordinary relations with hu- 
manity, and inclosing her in a sphere of herself 

Preceded by the beadle, and attended by an 
irregular procession of men and women, Hester 
Prynne set forth toward tbe place appointed for 
her pumsbmont. It was no great distsneo from 
the prison door to the market-place. With a se- 
rene doportment. Heater Prynne passed through 
the crowd of stem and gazing spectators, and 
came to a sort of scaffold, erected beneath the 
eaves of Boston's earliest church. This was the 
platform of this pillory, above which roie tho 
framework of that Instrument of discipline, so 
fashioned as to confine the human head in its tight 
grasp, and thus hold it up to public pare. Know- 
ing well lior part/llestcr ascended a flight of wood- 
en atepr, and waa thui displayed to the surround- 
ing multitude at about the higbt of a man'i shoul- 
ders above the stroet. 

Had there be«n a Papist among the crowd of Puritans, he 
might have seea tn this beautiful woman, so picturesque lo 
her autre and mien, and with the Infant at her hoaritn, an 
object to remind htm of the Image of Dtvlnn Maternity, 
Which so many Illustrious palmers have vied with onn 
another lo represent; something which should remind him, 
Indeed, husymly hy contrast, nt that snorad Imsge of sinless 
mO'herhood, whose Infant was to redeem the world. Here 
there waa the taint of deepest sin lo the most sarred qua'lty 
of human life, wot king such effect, thai the world waa only 
the darker for thla woman's beauty, and Ihe more lost fur 
the infant she had borne. 

The scaffold of the pillory was a point of view that re- 
vealed to Heater Prynne the entire track aloncr which ahe 
had been treading since her happy Infancy. Standing on 
that miserable eminence, she aaw again her native village 
to Old England and her paternal home— a decayed houae 
of gray stone, with a poverty-stricken aspect, but retaining 
a half-obliterated shield of arms over the portal, In token of 
antique gentility. She saw ber father's face, with Its hald 
brow ana reverend white beard, that flowed over ihe old- 
fsehioned Elizabethan ruff; her mother's, too, with tbe look 
of heedful and enxloue love which It alwaya wore In ber 
remembrance, and whirb, even since her death, had lu of- 
ten laid the Impediment of a gentle remonstrance In her 
daughter's pathway. She saw her own lace, gluwtngwith 
girlish heaulv, and Illuminating all the Interior of the deaky 
mirror in which ahe had been woDt to gaze at it. There 
she behold another countenanco of a man well stricken in 
years, a pale, thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and 
bleared by the lamp-tight that had served them to pore over 
many ponderoua hooka Yet Ihnse snnie bleared optica had 
a strange, penetrating power, when It was their owner's 
purpose to read the human soul. This figuro of the aiudv 
and the cloister, as Heater Prypne's womanly fancy failed 
not to recall, was sllghllv deformed, with the left shoulder a 
trifle higher than the right Next rose before her, In memo- 
ry's picture-gallery, the Intricate and narrow thoroughfares, 
the tall gray liousee. the huge cathedrala, and tbe public 
edifices, ancient in date and quaint In architecture, of a 
Continental city i where a new life had awaited her, atlll in 
connection with, the mlaahapen acholar ; a new life, feeding 
itself on time-worn materials, tike a tuft ol green mini on a 
crumbling wall. Jjaallv, In lieu of theao shifting scenes, 
came back Ihe rude market-place of the Puritan aottlement, 
with ell Ihe lownapeople assembled and leveling their stem 
regards al lienor Prynne — yes, at liereelf— who atood on 
the scaffold of the pillory, an infant on her arm, and the let- 
ter A, in scarlet, fantastically embroidered wlih gold thread, 
upon her bosom t 

Could It be Iruel She clutched the child so fiercely to hor 
breast lhai It sent forlh a cry t she turned her eves down- 
wsrd al the scarlet letter, and even touched It with hor fin- 
ger, to assure herself that the Infant and the ahame were 
real. Veal these were ber roalluoa — all else had vanished! 

On tho outskirts of tho crowd, tho wonrcr of tlio 
scarlet lettor discovered a figure, which irresist- 
ibly took possession of her thoughts. Standing by 
the sido of an Indian, and ovidontly sustaining a 
corapanionaliip with him, them was n white man, 
clad in a strange disarray of civilized and savage 
costume. He was small in stature, with a furrowed 
visage, which as yet could hardly bo called aged, 



1850 

and a remarkable intelligence in his features. Al- 
though he had endeavored to conceal the peculi- 
arity by his garb, it was evident to Heater, that 
oae of thii man's shoulders rose higher than the 
other. At the first moment of perceiving him, ahe 
preased her infant to her bosom, with auch con- 
vulsive force that tho poor babe uttered another 
cry of pain, hat the mother did not seem to hear 
it- On arriving at the market place, the stranger 
bent his eyes on Heater Prynne. It waa careless 
at first, but aoon his look became keen and pone- 
trative. A writhing horror twisted itself across 
hia features, liko a snakeglidingiwiftly over thera, 
and making one little pause, with all its wrotclicd 
involutions in open light. Hia faco grew dark 
with powerful emotions, but tho convulaio-i soon 
subsided, m if controlled by a miraculous •«,' .-: oi 
his will. When he found the eyes of Hester 
Prynne fastened on his own, and aaw that she ap 
peered to recognize him,' ho slowly and calmly 
raised hia finger, made a geature with it in tho air, 
and laid it on hiilipi. Tho atranger then turned 
to one of the towmmon and engaged in conver- 
sation. 

While this puseod. Heater Prynne had been standing on 
her pedestal, still with a hied gazo iowa<d ihe stranger , 
so fixed a gsze, that at moments of Intense absorption, all 
otht-r ob|ects In the visible world seemed to vaa'sh, leaving 
only blm and her. Such an Interview, perhaps, would 
have been more ter'ihlo than even to meet him as she now 
did, wlih the hot, mlddav sun burning down upon her face, 
and lighting up Ha ah une ; wlin ihe scarlet token ol Infamy 
on hrr breaati with the aln bora Infant In her arms; with a 
whole people, drawn forth as to a festival, staring at the 
features that should have been seen only tn the quiet gleam 
of the fl -aside, In tho happv shadow of a home, or beneath a 
malronly veil, at church Dreadful as It waa, she was con- 
sclous of a shelter In the presence of these thousand wit- 
nesses. 1 1 waa belter lo stand thus, with so many belwlzt 
hi in and her, than lo greet him, face to face. Ihey two alone. 
She fled for refuge, as It were, to Ihe public exposure, and 
dreaded the moment when Its protection should be with- 
drawn from her. 

Thia mysterious being, who holds a principal 
place in the development of the plot, is depicted 
with such fearful distinctness and vigor that his 
infernal preaence must long haunt tbe chambers of 
memory. 

A creation of a different order, but of no less 
originality and power, gleams in fairy brightness 
through tbe sombre scenes of the narrative, sur 
passing in artistic harmony, and in mystic, thrilling 
grace, the similar production* of Goethe and Scott. 

We bava as yet hardly spoken of Ihe Infant: that little 
ereaiure, wboee Innocent life bad sprung/, by Ibe Inscrutable 
decree of Providence, a lovely and Immortal Bower, oat of 
tbe rank luxuriance of a guilt? passion. How strange It 
seemed lo Ihe sad woman, as she watched the growth, and 
the beauty Ibal became every day more brilliant, and Ihe In- 
telligence that threw Its quivering sunshine over the liny 
features of ibis child ! Her Pearl I for so bad Hester called 
ber; not as a name expressive of ber aspect, which had 
nothing of the calm, white, unlmpaasloned luairo that 
would be Indicated by the comparison. But she osrned the 
Infant " Pearl," as being of great price— purchased with all 
she bad— ber mother's only ireaaure! How strange, Indeed! 
Man bad marked ibis woman's sin by a scarlet latter, which 
had such potent and dlsastroas elhcacy met no human sv m- 
patby could reach her, save It were sinful like herself, (iud, 
as a direct consequence of the sin whleb man thus pus- 
tshed.had given ber alovety child, whose place was on that 
aarne dishonored boaom, lo connect her parent forever wlih 
tbe race and descent of mortals, and to be finally a blessed 
soul In heaven! Yet Ibeae (houghta affected Hester Pryuna 
leas with hope than apprehension. Blie knew that ber deed 
bad been evil; she could have no faith, therefore, thai Its 
result would be for goorl Day after day sho looked fear- 
fully Into the child's expanding nature, ever dreading to de 
tect some dark and wilt] peculiarity, thai should correspond 
with the guiltiness to which she owed her being. 

Certain,-, there waa no physical defect By its perfect 
shape, its vigor, and Its natural dexterity In Ibe use of all Its 
untried limbs, die infant waa worthy to bava been brought 
forth Id Eden ; worthy to have been K fi there, to be the play- 
thing of the Angela, after the world'a Drat parents ware 
driven nut The chli.l had a naUve grace, which does out 
Inversely coexist with faultlesa beauty; Its attire, bow- 
ever simple, alwaya impressed the beholder as If it were 
tbe very garb that prtrlt-iy becomes It besL Bot .iitle 
Pearl waa not clad lo rustic weada Her mother, with a 
morbid purpose that may t<o better understood hereafter, 
had bought the richest tissues that coule be procured, and 
allowed bar lmaglnsjlve fancy full play La ibe arrangement 
and drroret en of 'he dr--asea which the child wore, before 
tbe public eve So magrjtbceot was the small figure, when 
tbua arrayed and such waa the splendor of Paarl'a own 
proper beauty, shiulug through the gorgeous robes which 
might have extinguished a paier loveliness, ihai thr re wae 
an abaolute circle of radian, e around her, on tbe darksome 
collage floor. And yol a ruaaet gown, lorn and soiled with 
the child's rude play, made a picture of bar Just as perfect 
Pearl's aspect waa Imbued with a spell of Infinite variety , 
In this oue child there were many children, comprehending 
tbe full scope between tbe wild flower pratuoess of s peas- 



1850 

ant baby and the pomp, In [Mia, of an Infant princess. 
Throughout all, however, there was a trait of passion, a cer- 
lain deplb of hue, which aba never loaij ana If. la any of 
ber cbaoges, tba bad grows lalnter or paler, aba wuuld 
have ceaaed 10 ba herself: U would hava been no longer 
Pearl! 

This outward mulabUlty Indicated, and did not mora than 
fairly express, (be various properties of bar Inner life. Her 
nature appeared to possess depth, too, aa wall aa variety ; 
but— orelae liesiei's leara deceived ber— It lacked refer- 
ence and adaptation to tbe world Into which aha wee burn. 
The child could nut be made euieneltle lo rulee. In giving 
her oiiiiim, « a greet law had been broken i and the result 
was a being wiman uleiiiiinia were pertiapa beauillul and 
brilliant, hut all lu disorder) or with an order prculla/ to 
themeelvea, auildal which Ibe point of variety and arrange- 
ment wee dllhculi or linpoaatble to bo dlacovered littler 
Could only account fur the ehlld'a character— and even then, 
inoal vaguely and Imperfectly— by mcalllng what ahe hur- 
aell had hm-n, during that inumeiiloua period while Peitrl 
waa tiuMliIng her auul from the aplsltuel wurld, and hur 
hodlly frame from Ita material of earth The moihei'a lot 

fiessloned atate hud been ihe medium ibreugh which were 
reusiiiluud lo the utbnrn Infant the raya of lu moral II ie , 
and, however white and clear originally, they bad taken '.he 
deep atalna of crlmaon and gold, thai flery luster, tha black 
shadow, and the untempered light, of kbe Uitonr etiuig sub- 
stance Ahove all, the warfare of Heat«r*« spirit, at that 
epoch, was pxrpniiiatiul In Pr>arl. Sha could recognize her 
wild, OPsperKte, defiant mood, the fllghtlnass of her temper, 
and evt n snmn or the vnry cloud-shapes of gloom and de- 
spondency thst had brooded loiter heart Ttiey were now 
Illuminated by Ihe morning raofanre oft young child's dls- 
pnaltlnn, hut, later In ihe da* of earthly existence, mlgbt be 
prolific of tho storm and whirlwind. 

Tho gtonpitig in this drama of inddcribablo 
miliary ii completed by tho person of tho Reverend 
Arthur Dimmosdale, of whose character wo are 
put fully in possession by a deicription black with 
harrowing agony. 

While thus suffering under bodily disease, and gnawed 
and tortured hy some black trouble nf the soul, and given 
over to the machinations of his deadlleat enemy, Reverend 
Mr Dlromeadale had achieved a brilliant popularity In hla 
sacred offieo. He won It, Indeed, In great part, by nls sor- 
rows Ills Intellectual gifts, hla moral perceptions, his 
Eower of experiencing and commnnlcatlng emotion, were 
ept In a state of preternatural activity by the prick and an- 
guish of hts dally life. Hla fame, though still on Its upward 
slope, already overshadowed iho soberar reputations of hla 
fellow-clergymen, eminent a* several of them were. There 
were scholars among; them, who had spertl more years In 
acquiring ahstruse lore, connected with the divine profes- 
sion, than Mr Dlmmetdale hnd lived i and wbo might well, 
thiTefnre, be moro profoundly versed In such solid ana 
valuable attainments than their youthful brother '1'hore 
woro men, loo, of a sturdier texture of mind Ui« ..is, and 
endowed with a fsr greater share ol shrewd, luru, Iron or 
granite understanding ; which, duly minted with a fair 
proportion of doctrinal Ingredient, mnstltiiios a highly re- 
spectable, eilicaclnus, and unamtanln variety of the clerical 
species. There wore others, strain, true enlntly fathers, 
whoaofaculllca had been elaborated hy weary toll among 
Ihelr hooka, and by patient thought, and elhoroallied, morn- 
over, hy spiritual communications with tbe better world, 
Inio which their purity of life had almost Introduced these 
holy personages, with their garments of mortality still 
clinging to them. All that they larked was Ihe gift that de- 
scended upon the chosen disciples, at Pentecost, In tongues 
of flam-e , symbolizing, It would seem, not tho power of 
speech In foreign and unknown languages, but that of ad- 
dressing Ihe whole human brotherhood In the heart's native 
language. These fathers, otherwise so apostolic, lacked 
Heaven's last and rarest altes'atlon of ibelr office, the Ton- 
gue of Flame. They would have vslnly sought— bad they 
ever dreamed of seeking— to expr"«s the highest truths 
through the humblest medium of f* nlliar words and lma- 
»s. Their voices came down, afr.r nnd Indistinctly, from 
e upper hlghts where they habitual.., dwelt. 
Not Improbably, It waa to this la.hr class of men that 
Mr. Ditnmesdale. by many of hla trats of character, natu- 
rally belonged. To their high mountain-peaks of faith and 
avnctlty be would have climbed, had not the tendency been 
thwarted by the burden, whatever It might bo, of crime or 
anguish, benea'h which It was his doom to totter, it kept 
blm down, on a level with the lowest; blm, the man of 
ethereal attributes, whose voice the angels mlgbt have lis- 
tened to and answered ! But this very burden It was that 
gave him sympathies so Intimate with tbe sinful brother- 
hood of mankind ; so lhat hts heart vibrated In unison -lib 
theirs, and received their pain Into Itself, and sent Its own 
throb of pain through a thousand other hearts, In gushes of 
sad, persuasive eloquence Oftenest persusslve, but some- 
tl mes terrible ! Tne people knew not the power lhat moved 
them thus They deemed the young clergyman a miracle 
of holiness. They funded him the raouto-plcce oi Heav- 
en's messsges of wisdom, and rebuke, and love. In their 
eyes, the very ground on wblch he trod wss sanctified.— 
Tho virgins of his chnrch grew pale around him, victims 
of a passion so Imbued with religious sentiment lhat they 
Imagined It lo be all religion, and brought It openly, In 
their white bosoms, aa tbelr most acceptable sacrifice before 
the altar. Tho aged members of his (loch, beholding Mr. 
Dimmasdale's trame so feeble, while they were themselves 
so rugged In their Infirmity, believed that ho wotttd go 
heavenward before them, and enjoined II upon their chU- 
dren lhat their old bones should he burled close to their 
young pastor's holy grove. And all this time, perchance, 
when poor Mr. Dlmmesdale was thinking of bis grave, be 
questioned with hlmsell whether the grass would ever 
grow on It, because an accursed thing must there be 
burled! 

It is Inconceivable, Ihe agony with which this public ven- 
eration tortured him! It was his genuine Impulse to adore 
the truth, and to reckon all things shadow-like, and utterly 
dovold of weight or value, lhat had not lta-dlvlne essence aa 
the life within tholr llfo. Then, what was hel— a sub- 
stanco?— or the dimmest of all shadows! He longed to 
S|iesk out, from his own pulpit, at tbe full hlghl of his voice, 
and lell ihe people what he was. " I, whom you hehnld In 
those black garments of the priesthood— I, who ascend Ihe 
sacred desk, and turn my pale face iioavenward, lulling 



5Te 



56 

urtun nivri'inohfild communion. In jour bHialf, with iho 
Most If l^'lif )mninrlr»nr-> — I in win. go dally lift, you dUcnrn 
tho mrniiy of Knoeh— I, wno*n fooittept, ai you iurpnao. 
IcavH a fftuam a ion.? ray eartbly track, whereby tbe plltfriioj 
that ihall come afinr me may be fuld^fi to ibe rffiloDf of 
iho hieat— I, who have laid the hand of bapilam upon your 
children— I, who have breathed the par Huff prayer over 
your dytnn friend •, to whom ihe Amen pounded faintly 
from a world which thoy had quilted— I. your paator, whom 
you ao reverence and truil. am utterly a puliation and 
a lie!" 

More than once Mr. DlmmeadaJe had pone Into the 
pulpit, with a purpoae never 10 come down its atepa. 
until he should have apokoo words like the above.— 
More than once he bad cleared hla throat, and drawn 
In tho long, deep, and tremutoua b.ealii, which, when 
lent forth again, would conm burdened with the bla*k 
aecret of hla soul. More than one*— May, more than a hun- 
dred limes — he had actually spokon! Spoken! But how ? 
He had told hla hearera lhat be was altogether vile, a nler 
companion of the vilest, the worst of atnnera, an abomina- 
tion, a thing of unlmaglnablo iniquity; and that tbi only 
wonder wus lhat they did not see his wretched body 
shriveled up before their ey**e by the burning wrath of 
the Almighty! Could there be plainer speech tbau this? 
Would not the people Hart up from their aeais by a simul- 
taneous Impulse, and tear hi ft) down out of the pulpit which 
he denied 1 Not so, Indeed ! They heard It all, and did but 
reverence him the more They little guessed what deadly 
purport lurked In those selMrondemmng words. "The 
godly youth !" said they among themselves " The saint on 
earth ! Alas, If he discern such sinfulness In his oVn while 
soul, what horrid apeclacle would he behold *h thine or 
mini*!" The minister well knew— "tittle lint remorseful 
by) i-cri'o it.ii; lui *<.-**. -ii* U^ht U *»li*r!i U'i -»r'"* rin- 
(eMlon would be vlewod. He bad striven to putHclieac 
upon himself hy making the avowal of a gulliy coneciruce, 
hut had gained only one other aln and a aelf-arknowled^ed 
shame, wlihont ihe momentary relief of being self-de- 
ceived. He had spoken the very truth, and transformed It 
Into the vorieal falsehood. And yet, by Iho conRtlLULlon of 
hts nature, he lovod iho truth, ana loathed tbo lie, aa few 
men ever did. Therefore, above ail things else* bo loalhod 
bis miserable self! 

His Inward trouble drove blm to practices, more In ac- 
cordance with tbe old corrupted faith of Rome, than with 
the better light of the church in which he had been born 
and bred. In Mr. DltnmeadeJe'a secret closet, under lock 
and key, there waa a bloody acourge Oftentimes thts Pro- 
testant and Puritan dlvtno had plied It on hla own shoulders; 
laughing bttleiiy at himself the while, and .miuoirso much 
ibe more pitilessly, because of that bitter laugh, it was hie 

her pious Purt* 



custom, too, as it baa been thai of many otiie 
tans, to fast,— not. however, like them, In order to puriiy 
the body and render It the biter medium of celestial Illumi- 
nation,— but rigorously, and until bis kneea trembled be- 
neath blm, u an act of penance. He kept vigils, likewise, 
night after night, sometimes in utter darkness ; aometimea 
with a glimmering lamp ; and sometimes viewing hts own 
face In a looking-glaae by the most powerful light which he 
c>u)d throw uptto it He thus typified the constant intro- 
spection wherewith he tortured but could not purify him- 
self. In Ibese lengthened vigils nil brain often reeled, and 
visions seemed to flit before blm , perhaps seen doubtfully, 
and by a faint light of tbelr own, in the remote dimness of 
the chamber, or more vividly and close beside blm within 
the look < ng-g lass. Now it was ft herd of diabolic •napes, 
lhat grinned and mocked ai the pale minister, and beckoned 
blm away with tnem , now a group of shining angels, who 
flew upward heavily, aa aorrow*Leden, but grew more 
ethereal as taey rose Now came the dead friends ot hla 
youth, and his . white-bearded father with a salnt-Uke 
frown, and hla mother turning ber face away aa she passed 
by. Ghost of a mother,— thinnest fantasy of a mother,— me- 
tfalnka the might yet have thrown a pitying glance toward 
ber son ! And 'now, through the chamber, which tbeae 
spectral thoughts had made ao ghaatly, glided Hester 
rrynne, leading along little Pearl, In her scarlet garh, and 

retnting ber forefinger, first, at tbe scarlet leuer on her 
atom, and then at the clergyman's own breaaU 

*Ve have not intended to forestall oar readers 
with a dot cription of tbe plot, which it will be per- 
ceived abounds in elements of tragic interest, bat to 
preient them with some specim&ni of a genaine na- 
tive romance, which none will be content without 
reading for ihemielvos. The moral of the story— 
for it has a moral for all wise enough to detect it — 
is shadowed forth rather than expressed in a few 
briof sentences near the oloie of the volume: 

But there was a more real life for Heater Trynoe, here. 
In New- En gland, than In thai unknown region where I'oarl 
bad found a borne. Here bad been her efij ; here ber sor- 
row; and here waa yet lo be her penitence. Site had re- 
turned, therefore, and resumed — or her own free will, for 
not tbe sternest magistrate of thai Iron period would have 
Imposed It — resumed tbe symbol of which we have related 
ae dark a tale. Never afterward did It quit her bosom. 
But, ' i the lapse of tbe toUsotue, thoughtful, and self-de- 
voted years that made up Hester's life, tbe scarlet letter 
ceaaed to be a stigma which attracted the world'a scorn 
and bitterness, and became a type of something to be sor- 
rowed over, and looked upon with awe, yet with reverence 
too. And aa Hester Pry nne bad no aelnth ends, nor lived 
In any measure for her own profit and enjoyment, people 
brought ah their sorrows and perplejtiUea, and besought 
ber counsel as one wbo bad herself gone through a 
mighty trouble. Women, more especially — In tbe contin- 
ually recurring trials of wounded, wasted, wronged, mU- 
S laced, or erring and siaful pawl on— or with the dreary bur- 
en of a heart onylelded, because unvalued and unsought — 
came into Heaters cottag e, demanding why tbey were ao 
wretched and what tbe remedy ! Heater comforted and coun- 
selled them, aa best she might. She assured them, too, of ber 
Son belief, thai, at some brighter period, when ihe world 
should have grown ripe for It, In Heaven's own time, a new 
truth would be revealed. Id order to eetenUeh the whole re- 
lation between man and woman on a surer ground of mu- 
tual bapplneae Earlier in life. Heater had vainly Imagined 
that she herself might be the destined prophetess, but had 
long since recognized the impossibility that any mission of 



1850 

divine and mysterious truia sbould do cor. tided to a woman 
•talned with slo, bowed dowo wun sbinje, or eseo burcU-rj- 
•d wlta a life-long sorrow. Tbe angel and apostle of ibe 
coming revelation must be s wooj.q, Indeed, but lofty, pure 
snd beautiful; and wise, moreover, not Uirough duaky 
grief, buube ethereal medium of Joy; and sbowlnx bow 
sacred love sbould make us bappy, by tbe truest teat of a 
life successful lo sucb an end f 

The introduction, preieoting a recorJ of aavory 
reminiicenaea of tbe Salem Custom House, a 
frank tliaplay of autobiographical confessions and a 
piquant daguerreotype of bis ancient colleagues in 
office, while Surveyor ot that port, ia written with 
Mr. Hawtborne'a unrivalled force of graphic delinea- 
tion, and will furnish an agreeable amusement to 
those who are so far from the scene of aatiou, as to 
fuel no wound in their personal rel»t'n>ns, by the 
occasional too share touches of the caustic acid, of 
which tho "gontle author" keeps sumo phials on 
his shelf for ooovenienoo and use. Tho querulous 
tone In which he. alludes to Ids removal from 
the Custom House, may be forgiven to the aensi- 
uvoness of • poet, especially aa this ia ao rare a 
quality in Uncle Sam's oflioe holders. tx. 

[?Ripley] in N.Y. Weekly 
Tribune. 4-6-50, p. 1. 



Heathenism Revived. 

Emerson haa been lecturing in New 
York to audience* which admired and ap- 
plauded, even if they did not understand. 
The Cfinstion Inquirer seems to think that 
his great point of interest consists in his 
ignoring Christian ideas, and "casting him- 
self behind the light of modern civilization 
and the Gospel." It seems that the trans- 
cendental Mr. Emerson at last turns out to 
be a sort of Emperor Julian in a small way. 
Wo give an extract from the Inquirer's 
account of this new pagan philosopher: 

"The interest ami charm of Mr. Emer- 
son's writings and speeches, consists, we 
think, veiy much in his reproducing a 
school of thought, with which eai liest peri- 
ods of the world have been very familiar, 
but which various circumstances, some 
good and aiime bad, have crowded out of 
modern notice. Ilis grand tour dt force, 
if we may so call it, consists in casting 
himself back of Ihe Christian era — and 
behind the light of modern civilization 
and the Csnspel, and making over again 
the observations which unassUted reason 
then made upon the great phenomena of 
nature and the soul, tie introduces his 
hearer to the heathen and piirnilive slate 
of things; stupe the evangelical skin from 
the woi Id, strains out from our common at- 
moaphare, tbe Gospel beams, and then 
delights us with the excellent morality 
and religion taught by the everlasting laws 
ef the universe. It requires no common 
genius to do this. It is no ordinary service 
lhat lie thus rentiers. The traiuing a man 
must go through, to get rid of Christian 
prejudice* in this nineteenth century. In 
make himself a good heathen, to stand 
with the pre-Adsmite man he talks of, and 
look out of pure natural eyes into the sky, 
upon the world, into the soul — this train- 
mo; cannot ba* often looked for, for it is too 
expensive; and lh« results of it ate likely 



1850 

In be ilmiUr to Michael Angelo'a •*{»,•. 
ience. who, Emerson tclU u», could mil* 
read by holding the book, over hi* head, 
after be h»<l painted the ceiling of lb* 
.Si»iiimj Chtiprl. Mr. Emrnun lelU u» 
roo.i eloqu-'iitly, charmingly, inalructively, 
what would bo the beat poaaible pbiloao- 
phy of naiure and man, tbe beat ethiea 
and ri-ligion, if we bad no help but our 
• •wn in making ihpm. lli« view* hire 
iiu ao iixw and f<«-->li, thai mi) forgat that 
(hey on iiioir novelty mainly to a subtrac- 
tion from every moral aad theological op- 
inion and judgment of prcfifoly that 
which revealed religion lias »>l<lr.l to 
them." 

The Calendar (Anglican) 
Hartford, 4-27-50, p. 2. 



PORTRAITS OF EMERSON AND 
GREELY, 

"A Gothamite," of the 
Pittsburgh Christian Advo- 
cate, thus hits off these 
two men: 

The oddities of Emerson 
and those of Greely—though 
in both cases assumed and 
cultivated as the means of 
making a mark and acquiring 
notoriety f sic ] — are quite 
different in character. 
Both are kind, affable, and 
winning; but the former 
wears the studied polish of 
refined manners; the latter, 
the equally studied awkward- 
ness of the clown. Both are 
well stored with classic 
lore; but the former deals 
out his classic gems with a 
practiced hand, exhibiting 
their polish and brilliancy 
with some degree of careful- 
ness, the other turns them up 
and scatters them around with 
the indifference of swine 
rooting up jewels in the sand. 
Both are peculiar in dress; 
one punctilious in the exer- 
cise of a fashionable taste, 
the other careful of those 
enduring corduroys and the 
white overcoat that for many 
years has enveloped his lean 
and lank frame. Both have 
their object — their hobby; 
that of the former is tran- 
scendental, ethereal, incog- 



57 
nizable, unimaginable: the 
latter, we should have said, 
has his hobbies , for he has 
a peculiar faculty of mount- 
ing every one that chances 
to trot up. It would be 
difficult to catalogue all 
the nags whose speed and 
wind he has tested. Pour- 
ierism is his old war horse; 
then follow phrenology and 
pateology, hydropathy and 
homeopathy, together with 
all kinds of reform in sci- 
ence, in manners and in mor- 
als; and last of all comes 
in the mysterious noises in 
Western New York! Yet in 
his own mind, this conglom- 
eration is all fused into 
one mass, under the gener- 
al name of progress . 

The Calendar (Anglican) 
Hartford, 6-8-50. 



For Th« Trltun.. 
TO TLLE MEMOB.Y OK MAHQAJIET FULLER. 



nr e. ii.wi imith. 

We hailed thee, Margaret, from tho »ea— 

We hailed tbco o'or the wave, 
And littlo thought in greeting thee, 

Thy homo would be a grave. 

Wo bleat thee in thy laurel crown, 

And in the myrtlo'a ahoon— 
Rejoiced thy noble worth to own, 

Still joy, oar teari between. 

Wo hoped that many a happy year 

Would bleu thy coming feet; # 

And thy bright famo grow brighter here, ■«# 

By Fatherland njade iwoet. 

•Gone, gonol with all thy gloriooj thought— ^ 
Oono with thy waking life — * 

With th' green chaplet Fame had wrought— © 
The joy of Mother, Wife. ( 

Oh I who ahall dare thy Harp to take, e\} 

And poor upon tbe air I 

The clear, calm muni :, tbat ihould wake 

Tlio heart to love an«l prayer I •. 

The lip, all eloquent, ia * tilled 

And ailcnt with iti truit — 
Tho heart, with Wumiiu'i greatnen filled, 

Muat crumble to the duat : 



CO- 
OT 



But from thy great heart we will taka 

Now courage for the atrifa — 
From petty ilia our bondage break, 

And labor with new life. 

Walto up in darhneia though it be 

To better truth and ligh*t ; 
Patient in toil, aa we aaw thee, 

In ae arching for the light; 

And reindicts of tho acorn it bring*, 

For 'tii in Dp tort laud 
That Angela come with aheltering wing* 

To lead ua by tho band. 



1850 

Gonragooua one I thou, art not lost, 
Though aleeping in the wave — 

Upon it* chainlet* billow* to*ted, 
For theo i* litting grave. 

BrttVyn, L. 1. Jul, >], 18AO. 

FATAL WRECK. 

rr*ndfnl Lo» of l.tfr— £». IHnrgnret Fuller 
Drowned* 

PoWNlNC.'S, Flap. ISLAND, ) 

Sunday morning, 2lti July, 1850 J 

Yen will have *ccn in the paper* a nrtice of the 
lor* of the ahip " Elizabeth," from Lephorn, bound 
to Now -York. She came ashore about 5 miles east 
of the light-house nt -l A. M. Friday. About 6 
o'clock, tbe first mate, acting captain, (the captain 
having died at Gibraltar) and most of the crew 
cinio oslioreon piece t of the wreck, and all landed 
lately. About 7 o'clock Mr. Horace Sumner, a 
gentleman from Boston, joraped overboard and at- 
tempted to swim ashore, but (oon disappeared — 
supposed to have been injured by floating piece* of 
tho wreck. 

We lirst heard of the wreck at 10 o'clock, when. 
With secern! gentlemen boarder* and Mr. Downing, 
I started and reached the shore oppoiite tbe 
wreck about 11 o'clock. Soon after our arrival a 
sailor came aafely ashore on a raft — the wreck 
being about 400 yards from shore, the wind blow- 
ing a gale and surf very high. Between 12 and 1 
o'clock the life boat and gun arrived, bat the »hip 
was too far off to throw a »hot over her, and tbe 
rorf too high and the wind too strong to allow 
tho life-boat any chance of reaching the wreck. 
There still remained on board tbe vos«el the 
Marquis and Marchionos* D'Ossoli and child 
about two years old ; Celesta Pardena, a lady of 
Some, recently a resident of New-York ; and Ave 
©f the crew. We could see some of the crew on ' 
the deck ; the other* were on the forecastle. The 
tide wo* ritirp, and we could render them no as- 
sistance. We were in hope* the ship would hold 
■together till low water, when there might be a 
chance of boarding her ; but at abont 0J o'clock the 
gtle and the breakers both increased, and the ship 
began to break up, and in 15 minutes not a vestige 
of her remained. Several of the persons were seen 
struggling in the water among the piece* of the 
wreck, and two of tbe »ailor* were dragged on 
shore alive. Another sailor and tbe child toon 
came sshcre, but both dead. Mr. Le Roy and my- 
self picked up the child and were carrying' it np on 
the beach, wben we met one of the tailors, who 
took it from us with a great deal of feeling, placed 
it behind some of the cargo, took off his neck-cloth 
nnd covered him np. The child was taken to a 
lavLne about a mile from the wreck and buried 
yetlcrOiy. About an hour after, tbe body of 
Celesta Ptcdena wa» picked up half a mile east of 
the wreck, but life was entirely extinct. 

I gather from seme of the crew that when the 
WTcck broke up there remained on the forecattle 
five of the crew, Marquis D'Ossoli, Celesta Par- 
dena, and the child — the Marchioness D'Ossoli hav- 
ing been previously drowned in the foi«onttl<». 

I left the scene of disaster about 4 P.M. Friday, 
and returned there yesterday morning at 8 o'clock- 
No more bodies had been found, and none came 
sjhore during the day. I got a man to make a 
couple of rough cofEns, and finding that the Coroner 
did not come, we buried the sailor and Celesta 
Pardena among the sand-Lills, near where their 
bodies came atbore, and have so marked them that 
they can be entity distinguished should their friends 
— isb to remove them at a future day. 

Celesta Fare! ana was avery handsome youngwo- 
man, aboat 22 years old. I send herewith a package 
containing a number ofletteri, *c. belonging to the 
Marchioness D'Ossoli, which I took from her desk, 



1850 

which cine ashore in a box on Friday — the desk 
-wa« broken to pieces and the bag opaned in my 
presence — and I took possession of all that was In 
it, and on my return to the hotel, had them dried 
in the oven. I believe that the Editors of The Tri- 
irune aro friends of the Marchionoii D'Ossoli, and I 
enclose a few linei to them which you can road, and 
'hen fend to them at once. 

Should any of the friends of the Marquis and 
Uarcbicness D Ossoli, or Mr. Sumner, call on you, 
you can asinre them that all proper respect will 
be paid to their bodies when found ; and should 
6Dy of them wish to give any directions respecting 
them, let them write to Mr. Downing, whose address 
1 annex, and to whose care you will address any 
letters for me. I have written this in haste, as you 
will perceive, and have only time to say we are 
all well. 

From the Wreck on Fire Island. 

DoWKIKO'l KlKB'IlLAMD. ) 

Monday, 1 r\M. July ¥2, 1830. J 
To Ou Editor o/Tho Tribune ; 

None of the bodies of those lost In the Elizabeth 
came ashore yesterday. This morning the body of 
Henry Wetlervelt, one of the seamen, was found 
near the light house, and decently intoned. 



Appearance of the Wreck— Aeeonnt of the 
Catastrophe— The Dend— The Beach Pi- 
rated—The Picture* nod Stntue, dec. 

Special Correipondenceof Trie Tribune. 

FtRR Island, Tuesday, July JS. 
"To the Edtlore of he Tribune .■ 

I reached the house of Mr. Smith Oake*. about 
one mile from the spot where the Elizabeth was 
■wrecked, at three o'clock this morning. The boat 
in which I let out last right from Babylon, to croi* 
the bay, was seven hoars making the passage. On 
landing among the sandhills, Mr. Oakes admitted 
■tao into his house, and gave me a plaee of rest for 
the remaining two or three boars ot the night 

This morning I visited the wreck, traversed the 
beach for some extent on both sides, and collected 
all the particulars that are now likely to be ob- 
tained, relative to the closing scenes of this terri- 
ble disaster. The sand is strewn for a distance of 
three or four miles with fragment* of planks, 
spars, boxes, and the merchandise with whioh the 
vc nt 1 was laden. With the exception of a piece of 
ber broadside, which floated to the shore intaot, all 
tbe timbers have been so chopped and broken Wy 
the sea, that scarcely a stick of ten feet in length 
can be found. In front of the wreck these frig 
Bants are piled up along high-water mark to the 
blgbt of several feet, while further la among the 
sand-hills are scattered casks of almonds stove la 
and their contents mixed with the sand, sacks of 
Juniper berries, oil flasks, Ac. About half the hull 
remains under water, not more than fifty yards 
from the shore. The spars and rigging belonging 
to ibe forematt, with part of tbe mast itself, are 
still attached to the ruins, surging over them at 
every swell. Mr. Jonathan Smith, the Agent of 
tbe Underwriters, intended to have had the surf, 
boat launched this morning, for the purpose of out. 
ting away the rigging and ascertaining how the 
wreck lies -, but the sea is still too high. 

From what 1 can learn, the loss of the Elizabeth 
is maibly to be attributed to the inexperience of 
the Malo, Mr. H. P. Bangs, who acted as Captain 
after leaving Qibraltar. By bis own statement, be 
sopposed be was somewhere between Cape May 
and Barnegat, on Thursday evening. The raise] 
was conjequ.cntly running northward and struck 
head on. At the second thump, a hole was broken 
in ber side, the seas poured through and over her* 
and she began going to pieces. This happened at 
10 minutes before 4 o'clock. The passengers were 
roused from their sleep by tbe shock, and harried 
out of tbe cabin in their night clothes, to take 
refuge on the forecastle, which wu the least ex- 
posed part of tbe vessel. They succeeded with 



58 

great difficulty , Mrs. Hasty, the widow of the 
lato Captain, fell into a hatchway, from whioh she 
was dragged by a sailor who seized ber by the 
hair. 

The swells increased continually, and the danger 
of the vessel giving way induced several of the 
sailors to commit themselves to the waves. Pre- 
vious to this they divested themselves of their 
clothes, which they tied to pieces of plank and sent 
ashore. These were immediately seized upon by 
the beach pirates, and never afterward recovered. 
The carpenter cut loose some planks and spars, and 
upon one of these Mad. Ossoli was advised to trust 
herself, the Captain promising to go in advance, 
with her boy. She refused, saying that she had no 
wish to live without tbe child, and would not, at 
that hour, give tbe care of it to another. Mrs 
Hasty then took bold of a plank, in company with 
tbe second mate, Mr. Davis, through whose assist- 
ance she landed safely, though terribly bruised by 
tbe floating timber. The Captain clung to a hatch, 
and was washed ashore insensible, where he was 
resusoitated by the efforts of Mr. Oakes and sever- 
al others, who were by this time collected on the 
beach. Must of the men were entirely destitute of 
clothing, and some, who wore exhausted and ready 
to let go their hold, were saved by the islanders, 
w ho went into the surf with lines about their waists, 
and caught them. 

The young Italian girl, Celesta Padena, who was 
bound for New- York, where she had already lived 
in the family of Henry Peters Gray, the artist, was 
at first greatly alarmed, and tittered tbe most 
piercing screams. By the exertion* of the Ossolis 
she was quieted, and apparently resigned to her 
fate. The passenger* reconoiled themselves to the 
idea of death. At the proposal of the Marquis Os- 
soli some time was spent in prayer, after which all 
sat down calmly to await the parting of the ves' 
■el. The Marchioness Ossoli was entreated by 
the sailor* to leave the vessel, or at least to trust 
her child to them, but she steadily refused. 

Early in the morning some men bad been tent 
to the Lighthouse for the life-boat which is kept 
there. Although this is but two miles distant, the 
boat did not arrive till about one o'clock, by which 
time the gale had so increased and tbe swells 
were io high and terrific that it was impossible to 
make any use of it. A mortar was also brought 
for tbe purpose of firing a line over the vessel, to 
stretch a hawser between it and the shore. Tbe 
mortar was stationed on the- lee of a hillock, about 
ISO yards from the wre:k, that the powder might 
be kept dry. It was fired five times, but failed to 
carry a line more than half the necessary distance. 
Just before the foremast sank the remaining 
sailor* determined to lcavo. 

The steward, to whom thechlld had always been 
a great favorite, took it, almost by main force, and 
plunged with it into the sea; neither reached the 
shore alive. The Marquis Ossoli was so in after- 
wards washed away, but his wife remained in ig- 
norance of his fate. The cook, who wu the last 
perion that reached the shore alive, said that the 
last word* he beard her (peak, were: " I «ee no- 
thing but death before me — I «h*U never reach the 
■bore." It wa* between two and three o'clock in 
tbe afternoon, and after lingering for about ten 
.hours, exposed to the mountainous surf that swept 
over the vessel, with the contemplation of death 
constantly forced upon her mind, she was finally 
overwhelmed a* tbe foremast fell. It 1* supposed 
that her body and that of her husband are (till 
buried under the ruin* of the vessel. Mr. Henry 
Sumner, who Jumped overboard early in the morn- 
ing, wa* never seen afterwards. 
The dead bodies that were washed on shore 



1850 

were terribly bruised and mangled. That of the 
young Italian girl was inclosed in a rough box and 
buried in the sand, together with tho*e of the »ail- 
or«. Mr*. Hasty had by this time found a place of 
shelter at Mrs. Oakes's house, and at her request 
the body or the boy, Eugene Angelo D'Ossoli, wa* 
carried thither and kept for a day previous to inter- 
ment. Tbe sailors who had all formed a strong at- 
tachment to him during the voyage, wept like 
children when they saw him. There was some 
difficulty in finding a coffin, when the time of burial 
came, whereupon they took one of their ebests, 
knocked out the tills, laid the body carefully insido 
locked and nailed down the lid. He was buried in 
a little nook between two of the sand-hills, some 
distance from the sea. 

The same afternoon a trunk belonging to the 
Marchioness Ossoli came to shore, and was fortu- 
nately secured before the pirates had an opportu- 
nity of purloining it. Mrs. Oakes informs me that 
it contained several large packages of manuscript], 
which she dried carefully by the fire. I have 
therefore a strong hope tbat the work on Italy will 
be entirely reoovered. In a pile of soaked pipan 
near tbe door, I found flies of the Democrat* Pa- 
c-ifque and 11 Nazionale of Florence, a* well a* 
several of Mazzini's pamphlets, which I have pre- 
served. 

An attempt will probably be made to morrow to 
reach the wreck with the surf-boat. Judging from 
its position and the known depth of the water, I 
should think the recovery, not only of the bodies, 
if they are still remaining there, but alio of Powers's 
sUtuc and tbe block* of rough Carrara, quite prac- 
ticable, if there should be a sufficiency of still 
weather. There are about 150 tuns of marble un- 
der the ruins. The paintings, belonging to Mr. As- 
.pinwal), which were washed ashore in boxes and 
might have been saved had anyone been on tbe 
spot to care for them, are for the most part utterly 
destroyed. Those which were least Injured by 
tbo sea water were cat from the frames and oar- 
ried of) by the pirates; tbe frames were bro- 
ken in pieces, and scattored along the beach. — 
This morning I found several shreds of canvas evi- 
dently more than a century old, half buried in the 
sand. All the silk, leghorn braid, hats, wool, oil, 
almonds and other articles contained in her, wore 
carried off" as soon as they came to land. Oa San- 
day there were nearly a thousand persons here, 
from all parts of the coast between Rockaway and 
Montruk, and more than half of them wero en- 
gaged in secreting and carrying off everything 
that seemed to be of value. 

The two bodie* found yesterday were those of 
sailors. All have now come to land but those of 
the Ossolis and Henry Sumner. If cot found la 
the wreck, they will be cast ashore to tbe west- 
ward of this, as the current has act in that direc- 
tion (inco the gale. Yours, 4c. b. t. 
» 
Tbe Wreck of tbe Elizabeth. 
From a conversation with Mrs. Hasty, widow of 
tbe Captain of the ill-fated Elizabeth, we gather 
the following particulars of her voyage and it* 
melancholy termination : 

We have already stated that Capt. Hasty was 
prostrated, eight day* after leaving Leghorn, by a 
disease which was regarded and treated as fever, 
but which ultimately exhibited itself as Small Pox 
of the most malignant type. He died of it just as 
the vessel reached Gibraltar, and his remains were 
committed to the deep. After a short detention 
in quarantine, the Elizabeth resumed her voyage 
on the 8th ult. and was long baffled by adverse 
winds. Two days from Gibraltar, the terrible dis- 
ease which had proved fatal to the Captain, at- 
tacked the child of the Ossolis, a beautiful boy of 



N.Y. Weekly Tribune , IX, no. 463, Sat., 7-27-50, p. 4. 



1850 

two years, and for many days bia rocovery was 
regarded ai bopeleu . Hia eyes were complataty 
closed for (We days, his bead deprived of all shape, 
and his whole person covered with pastales ; yet, 
through the devoted attention of bis parents tad 
their friends, be survived, and at length gradually 
recovered. Only a few scars and red spots re- 
mained on bis face and body, and these were dis- 
appearing, to the great Joy of bis mother, who felt 
solicitous that hia rare beauty should not be 
marred at his first meeting with those she loved, 
and especially her mother. 

At length, after a month of slow progress, the 
wind shifted, and blew strongly from the south- 
west for several days, sweeping them rapidly on 
their course, until, on Thursday evening last, tbey 
knew that they were near the end of thoir voyage. 
Their trunks were brought up and repacked, in an- 
ticipation of a speedy arrival In port. Meantime, 
the breeze gradually swelled to a gale, which be- 
came deoided about 9 o'clock on that evening. — 
But their ship was now and strong, and all retired 
to rest as usual. Tbey were running west, and 
supposed themselves about sixty miles farther 
south than tbey actually were. By their reokon 
ing, tbey would be just off the harbor of New- York 
next morning. About 2} o'clock, Mr Bangs, the 
mate in command, took soundings, and reported 
twenty-one fathoms. He said that depth insured 
their safety till daylight, and turned in again. (Of 
course, all was thick around the vessel, and the 
storm bowling fiercely.) One boor afterward, the 
ship struck with great violence, and in a moment 
was fast aground I She wa* a stout brig of 53 1 
tuns, five years old, heavily laden with marble, Jcc- 
aid drawing seventeen feet water. Had she been 
light, she might have floated over the bar into 
twenty feet water, and all on board could have been 
saved. She struck rather sidewiae than bows on- 
canted on her side and stuck fast, the mad waves 
making a clear sweep over her, pouring down into 
the cabin through the skylight, which was de- 
stroyed. One aide of the cabin was immediately 
and permanently under water, the other frequently 
drenched. The passengers, who were all up in a 
moment, cboae the most sheltered positions, and 
there remained, calm, earnest and resigned to any 
fate, for a long three hours. No land was yet visi. 
ble, they knew not where they were, but tbey 
knew that their chance of surviving was small in. 
deed. When the coast was first visible through 
the driving storm in the grey light of morning, the 
sand-hills were mistaken for rock, which made the 
prospect atill more dismal. The youog Ossoli cried 
a little with discomfort and fright, but was soon 
husbed to sleep. Our friend Margaret bad two 
life-preservers, but one of them proved unfit for use. 
All the boats had been smashed in pieces or torn 
away soon after' the vessel struck, and while it 
would have been madness to launch them in thd 
dark if it bad been possible to launch them at all. 
with the waves charging over the wreck every 
moment. A sailor, soon after light, took Margaret's 
serviceable life-preserver and swam ashore with it 
in quest of aid for those left on board, and arrived 
safe, but of course could not return his maans of 
deliverance. 

By 7 A. M. it became evident that the cabin must 
soon go to pieces, and Indeed it was scarcely ten 
antable then. The crew were collested in the 
forecastle, which was stronger and less exposed, 
the vessel having settled by the stern, and the 
sailors bad been repeatedly ordered to go aft and 
help tbe passengers forward, but the peril was so 
great that none obeyed. At length the second 
mate, Davis, went himself, and accompanied the 
Italian girl, Celesta Pardena, safely to the forecas- 
tle, though with great difficulty. Margaret Ossoli 



59 

went next, and bad a narrow escapo from being 
washed away, but got over. Her child was placed 
in a bag tied around a sailor's neck, and thus car- 
ried safely. Ossoli and the rest followed, each con- 
voyed by tbe mate or one of the sailors. 

All being collected in tbe forecastle, It was evi- 
dent that their position was still most perilous, and 
that tbe ship could not much longer hold together. 
The women were urged to try first the experiment 
of taking each a plank and committing them- 
selves to tbe waves. Margaret refused thus to bo 
separated from hor husband and child. She had 
from tbe first expressed a willingness to live or die 
with them, but not to live without them. Mrs. 
Hasty was tbe first to try tbe plank, and, though 
the struggle wa* for soma time a doubtful one, did 
finally reach the ahore, utterly exhausted. There 
was a strong current setting to the westward, so 
that, though the wreck lay but a quarter of a mile 
from tbe shore, she landed three-fourths of a mile 
distant. No other woman, and no panenger, sur- 
vives, though several of the crew came ashore 
after abe did in a similar manner. The lust who 
came reports that the child had been washed away 
from the man who held it before the ship broke 
up, that Ossoli had in like manner been waahad 
from tbe fore-mast, to which he was dinging; but, 
in the horror of tbe moment, Margaret never 
learned tbat those sb« so olung to bad preceded 
her to the Spirit Land. Those who rcmalued of 
the crew had just persuaded her to trust herrolf to 
a plank, in tbe belief that Ossoli and their child 
bad already started for the shore, when, Just as sbo 
was stepping down, a great wave broke over the 
vessel and swept her into the boiling deop. Sho 
never rote again. The ship broke up soou afcer 
(about 10 A.M. Mrs. Hasty says, inatuad of the 
Itter hour previously reported), but both mates and 
most of the crew got ashore on one fragmeht or an- 
other. It was supposed that those of them who 
were drowned were hit by floating spars or plunks 
and thus stunned or disabled so as to prccluJo all 
chance of their rescue. 

—We do not know at the time of this writincr 
whether tbe manuscript of our friend's work on 
Italy and her late struggles has been saved. We 
fear it ha* not been. One of her trunks is known 
to have been saved, but, though it contained a good 

many papers, Mrs. Hasty believes that this was 
not among tbem. Tbe author bad thrown her 
whole soul into this work, had enjoyed tbe fullest 
opportunities for observation, was herself a par- 
taker in tbo gallant though unsuccessful straggle 
which has redeemed tho name of Homo from tbe 
long rust of sloth, servility and cowardice, was the 
intimate friend and cornpittriot of the Republican 
leaders, and better fitted than any one else to re- 
lute the calumniea and falsehoods with which their 
names have been blackened by the champions of 
aristocratic ' Order ' throughout the oivilixed world. 
We cannot forego the hope that her work on Italy 
baa been saved or will yet be recovered. We feel 
confident that her body and that of her husband 
will be recovered, though neither bad been uj> to 
1 o'otoek of Monday. 

m 

Tbe Crew/ and Faaaencera of the Elizabeth. 

Tbe following is a complete list of the persona 
lost by tbe wreck of the ship Elisabeth : 
Olovanol, Marqult D'OnoU. 
8 Margaret Puller D'OnolL 
Tbelr child, Eugene Angelo D'OaaoU. 
Celeila Pardena, of Rome. 
Horace 8uau>er, o' Boston. 
.George Basfbrd, seam to, (Swede). 
Henry Weatervell, do do. 

Georje Bales, steward. 
The following were saved : 



1850 

Mrs. Hitiy, widow of the Captain; Henry P- 
Barga, mailer; Cuarlei w. Davit, in mat* ; lohn 
Hrlairm m, 2d male ; Jim-i McNulry, A Pol lander, 
John MePhenoa, Hani Laumn, P-inr John, .o, John 

ThuUipioD, ADU-ln Ander.on. Peter Hinioo, K-'be'l vVlt- 

Pama. teamen , Joiej.h McGUl, cook; Usury Goodman, 
ataman. 

The Wreck of tbe Elizabeth. 

Up to a late hour last eveni'g, no further news 
reached us concerning tbe wreck of the ill-fatei 
ship Elizabeth. Charles Sumnkr, Esq., of Bos- 
ton, and Marcus Spring of this city, who left for 
Fire Island on Tuesday, returned yesterday morn- 
ing. No more of the bodies bad been found, and 
tho surf boat bad not succeeded In reaobing the 
wreck. Tbe agent appointed by the City of 
Charleston to receive and forward the statue of 
Calhoun, was on the spot. It is generally thought 
that the statue may be safely brought to land, 
should the sea continue as tranquil as at present. 

Mrs. Fuller, the mother of Margaret Fuller Os- 
soli, with two of her sons, reached the city yester- 
day morning, intending to remain here until the 
body of tho former ia found, or her efleots are re- 
covered. Rev. Mr. Fuller and Mr. Henry D. Tho- 
reau, o( Concord, Mass , left yesterday for Fire 
Island. 

Mrs. Hasty, the late Captain Bangs, and tbe sea- 
men of tho Elizabeth, are all staying in this city 
for tbe present. 

I><-nih of ITInrgnrcl Fuller. 

A great bouI has passed from this mortal 
stage of being in the death of Sarah. Mar- 
caket Fuller, (*) by marriage Marchioness 
of Or soli, who,. with hor husband and child, 
Mr. Henry Sumner of Boston, and others, 
was drowned in the wreck of the brig Eliza- 
beth from Leghorn for this port, on the south 
6hore of Long Island, near Fire Island, on 
Friday afternoon last. No passenger sur- 
vives to toll the story of that night of hor- 
rors, whose fury appalled many of our snug- 
ly sheltered citizens reposing securely in 
their beds. We can adequately realize what 
it must have been to voyagers approaching 
our coast from the Old World, on vessels 
helplessly exposed to the rage of that wild 
south-western gale, and seeing in the long 
and anxiously expected land of their youth 
and their lovo only an aggravation of thoir 
perils, a death-blow to their hopes, an assur- 
ance of their temporal doom I 

Margaret Fuller was the daughter of Hon. 
Timothy Fuller, a lawyer of Boston, but 
nearly all his life a resident of Cambridge, 
and a Representative of the Middlesex Dis- 
trict in Congress from 1817 to 1825. Mr. 
Fuller, upon his retirement from Con- 
grrps, purchased a farm at some distance 
from Boston, and abandonod Law for Agri- 
culture, soon after which he died. Hid 
widow and six children still survive. 

Margaret, if we mistake not, was the first- 
born, and from a very early age evinced the 
possession of remarkable intellectual pow- 
ers. Her father regarded her with a proud 
admira'ion, and was from childhood her 
chief instructor, guide, companion and 
friend. Ho committed the too common er- 
ror of stimulating her intellect to an assidu- 
ity and persistency of effort which severely 



1850 

taxed and ultimately injured her physical 
powers. At eight years of age he was ao- 
customed to require ©f her the composition 
of a number of Latin verses per day, while 
her studies in Philosophy, History, General 
Science and current Literature were in after 
years extensive and profound. After her 
father's death, she applied herself to teach- 
ing as a vocation, first in Boston, then in 
Providence, and afterward in Boston again, 
where her ' Conversations ' were for several 
seasons attended by classes of women, some 
of them married, and including many from 
the best families of the ' American Athens.' 
In the Autumn of 1844, she acoepted an 
invitation to take part in the conduct of The 
Tribune, with especial reference to the de- 
partment of Reviews and Criticism on cur- 
rent Literature, Art, Music, &c. a position 
which sho filled fwr nearly two years — how 
eminently our readers well know. Her re- 
views of Longftllow's Poems, Wesley's Me- 
moir?, Poe's Poems, Bailey's ' Festus,' 
Douglas's Life, &c. must yet be remembered 
by many. She had previously found . ' fit 
audience, though few,' for a series of re- 
markable papers on ' The Great Musicians,' 
'Lord llerbeit of Chcrbury,' ' Woman,' &c. 
&c. in ' The Dial,' a quarterly of remarkable 
breadth and vigor, of which she was at first 
co-Editor with Ralph Waldo Emerson, but 
which was afterward edited by him only, 
though the continued a contributor to its 
pages. In 1843, she accompanied some 
friends on a tour vif> Niagara, Detroit and 
Mackinac to Chicago and across the Prairies 
of Illinois, and her resulting volume enti- 
tled ' Summer on the Lakes,' is one of tho 
best works in its department ever issued 
from tho American press. It was too good 
to be widely and instantly popular. Her 
'Woman in tho Nineteenth Century' — an 
extension of her essay in 'The Dial' — was 
published by us early in 1845, and a moder- 
ate edition sold. The noxt year a selection 
from her 'Papers on Literature and Art' 
was issued by Wiley & Putnam, in two fair 
volumes of thoir ' Library of Americjaa 

Books.' We believe the original edition was 
nearly or quite exhausted, bnt & second has 
not been called for, while books no wise 
oomparable to it for strength or worth have 
run through half a dozen editions. These 
' Papers ' embody some of her bost contri- 
butions to ' The Dial/ • The Tribune,' and 
perhaps one or two whioh had not appeared 
in either. 

In the Summer of 1845, Miss Fuller ac- 
componied the family of a devoted friend to 
Europe, visiting England, Scotland, France, 
and passing through Italy to Rome, where 
they spent the ensuing Winter. She ac- 
companied her friends next Spring to the 
Njrth of Italy, and there stopped, spending 
most of the Summer at Florence, and return- 



60 

ing at the approaah of Winter to Rome, 
where she was soon after married to Giovan- 
ni, Marquis d'Ossoli, who had made her ac- 
quaintance during her first Winter in the 
Eternal City. They have since resided in 
the Roman States until the last Summer, 
after the surrender of Rome to the French 
army of assassins of Liberty, when they 
deemed it expedient to migrato to Florence, 
both having taken an active part in the Re- 
publican movement which resulted so dis- 
astrously — nay, of which tho ultimate re- 
sult is yet to be witnessed. Thence in June 
they departed and set sail at Leghorn for 
this port, in the Philadelphia brig Elizabeth, 
which was doomed to encounter a succession 
of disasters. They had not been many days 
at sea when the enptain was prostrated by a 
disease which ultimately exhibited itself as 
Confluent Small Pox of the most malignant 
type, and terminated his life soon after they 
touched at Gibraltar, after a sickness of in- 
tense agony and loathsome horror. The 
vessel was detained some days in quar- 
antine by reason of this affliction, but finally 
set sail again on the 8th ult. just in season 
t* bring her on our coast on the fearful 
night between Thursday and Friday last, 
when darkness, rain, and a terrific gale from 
the south-west (the most dangerous quarter 
possible) conspired to hurl her into the very 
jaws of destruction. It is said, but we know 
not how truly, that the mate in command 
since the captain's death, mistook the Fire 
Island light for that on the Highlands of 
Neversiuk, and bo fatally miscalculated his 
course ; but it is hardly probable that any 
other than a first-olass, fully manned ship 
could have worked off that coast under such 
a gale blowing him directly toward the roar- 
ing breakers. She struck during the night, 
and before the next evening the Elizabeth 
was a mass of drifting sticks and planks, 
while her passengers and part of her crew 
were buried in the boiling surges. Alas, 
that our gifted friend, and those nearest to 
and most loved by her, should have been 
among them I 

— We trust a new, compact and cheap 
edition or selection of Margaret Fuller's 
writings will soen bo given to tho publio, 
prefaced by a Memoir. It were a shame to 
us if one so radiantly lofty in intellect, so 
devoted to Human Liberty and Well-being, 
so ready to dare and to endure for the up- 
raising of her sex and her race, should per- 
ikh from among us and leave no memento 
less imperfect and casual than those we now 
have. We trust the more immediate rela- 
tives of our departed friend will lose no 
time in selecting the fittest person to pro- 
pare a Memoir with a selection from her 
writings for the press. We believe if suoh 
a volume were issued, as large and capa- 
oious as'could well be afforded for a dollar, 



1850 
it would bo very widely and profitably read ; 
and then if a sufficient encouragement were 
proffered for a more comprehensive edition 
of her writings, we should gladly welcome 
this also. America has produced ao woman 
who in mental endowments and aaquire- 
ments has surpassed Margaret Fuller, and it 
will be a publio misfortune if her thoughts 
are not promptly and acceptably embodied. 
If they are kept back a year or so, on the 
ueual pretexts of collating letters, consult- 
ing intimate friends, &c. the public will lose 
seriously by the delay. 

But the beet idea of our friend's intelleot 
and character cajinot be obtained from her 
writings alone. Conversing so prwfoundly 
and admirably that she was characterized 
as ' the best talker sijice De Stael,' she wrote 
laboriously, slowly :*nd not always lucidly 
and happily. Her great thoughts were sel- 
dom irradiated b y her written language — 
they were oftener clouded and choked by it. 
We have fancied that her early and life- 
long familiarity with other languages inter- 
fered with and marred hor felioity in the' 
uso of her native tonguo. But, howevor, 
caused, tho contrast between the freedom 
and eloqu-nci ot her familiar discourse and 
the paitiful tdowness and occasional awk- 
wardness of her composition was very strik- 
ing.. Pans-age s of rare beauty as well as sig- 
nal eli-vaticn of sentiment may be gleaned 
from her wo rks, but as a whole they must 
commend thvms-clves mainly by their vigor 
of thought and by habitual fearlessness 
rather t,hiu7. freedom of utterance. 

— One of the Editors of The Tribune 
went dov.n to the 6cene of the disaster on 
Monday, imd his report will be fouud in 
another column. 



f3F Horace Sumnkr, ooe of the victims of the 
lamentable wreck of the Elizabeth, vn the young- 
eat son of the late Hon. Charlea P. Sumner, of Boa- 
ton, for many yeara Sheriff of Suffolk County, and 
the brother of George Sumner, Esq. the diitin. 
gnisbed American writer, now realdent at Pari*, 
and of Charka Sumner, Esq. of Boatoo, who ia 
well known for hia legal and literary emlnoace 
throughout tho country. He waa about twenty- 
fouryeara of age, and had been abroad for nearly a 
year, traveling in the South of Europe for the bene- 
tit of bin health. The past winter waa aptent by him 
chiefly in Florence, where be waa on terms of 
familiar intimacy wtrltthe Marquia and Marchioness 
dOsoli, and waa induced to take passage in the 
ssme verael with them for his return to hia native 
land. He waa a young man of singular modesty of 
deportment, of an original com of mind, and greatly 
endeared to bis Inenci by the aweetnessof hia dis- 
position and :he purity of his character. 

N.Y. Weekly Tribune , 

7-27-50, p. 4. 



Emrrsjeii. 

The following criticism on the most origi- 
nal of our poets differs widely from any 
that has before been offered to the public. 
We take it without permission from a pri- 
vate letter, but its excellence is excuse 



1850 

enough. It is of that sort which goe9 irre- 
sistibly into print without asking leave of 
any body: 

" I liavc just been reading Emerson's Represen- 
tative Men. The work is so manifestly full of gen- 
ius, the good part so signalizes itself, the flashes 
are so much before the eye, and the subtlety of 
the truth and remark so penetrating, that I feel 
no manner of ability to praise tbe book, or to 
speak well of it. When anything rises to a cer- 
tain excellence, the best service you can do is to 
abuse it. I feel it a great pity that abusing has 
fallen so entirely into the hands of enemies ; that 
it has become diabolic, when it ought to be 
rescued and to be put into the hands of friends. 
It is as though tho surgeon should be chosen 
for hating you instead of for loving, and should 
put a spice of cruelty into, his slashes, when 
all jou want is clean cutting. And therefore 
If I were able to think of reviewing Emerson, I 
should vindicate to myself the right of finding 
nothing but fault. If he were one of those thickt 
phlegmatic geniuses whose souls are deep though 
their oyes are leaden, and who are diamonds only 
in their white-hot moments, it would bo wrong to 
throw any discredit upon a greatness which il< 
public olready discredits; but on tho contrary \\t 
is mere light, electricity, sunset, north shine, Anl 
imponderable essence ; and the best way to re- 
ceive him, and the only way to exhibit him, is ct\ 
a dark ground of criticism and heavy remark. The 
worst of it is, I know of nothing black enough to 
set him properly off. I have tried, by pnttitr? 
Atheist behind him, to see how his Comotship 
would show, but nlonlhe illuminated the torm, 
find lightened it away, and I found that I saw 
through him into the profound. 80, unfortunately, 
I fell through. 

" His lecture on 8wedcnborg is, however, the 
only ono on which I could say a word. I find 
Ralph Waldo guilty of great timidity and ghost- 
fearing in shirking the whole problem of his spir- 
itual experience as he doos, in annihilating the 
spiritual world by a mere dislike and noli tangere. 
The thing is too hard for that, and haunts the man 
in spite of his rapid revolutions of his back. A 
murdered world will be avenged, and though 
Emerson wishes to face every thing, and to have, 
no back, yet let him stand ever so planely with his 
dorsum op against the wall, the ghost will intrude 
between wall and dorsum, and establish a haunt. 
It is useless to turn the back upon things to which 
every thing is interstitial, and every interstice 
roomy. 80 my friend's first fault is timiditt, 
which is only not recognized as such on account 
of its vast proportions. I grant, then, that the 
funk is sublime, which is a true and friendly ad- 
mission. 

" The next fault to be signalized is Emerson's 
excessive orthodoxy. His objections to Sire- 
denborg are the most advanced objections of or- 
thodoxy, carried out to an Emersonic length. All 
the ordinary heterodoxy is nothing but the other 
extreme of plain and current views. Orthodoxy 
is the stake to which it is painfully tethered. The 
Heterodox man exclaims that he is for from that 
center. Yes, says the Orthodox, but what you 
call distance, /call string. Now Emerson ami 
the Bishop of London are but positive and nega- 
tive of ono thing, but inward fruit and outward 
rind, which by their very opposition copulate into 
one form, and carry forward one force. Whereas 
Swedenborg belongs to a new order, which stands 
with its feet equally upon both. The negative 
patronizes him for tho time as good against the 
positive ; but he is really poised and supported 
with one leg upon either. And tho positive has 



61 

as much right to him as the negative. Tbe se- 
cond accusation then is, that Emerson, terribly 
tied to Orthodoxy, cannot suspect for a moment 
that hero is a phenomenon outlying it and com- 
mencing to supersede it; and bence he judges 
Swedenborg from the normal and orthodox print 
as a child accustomed to the sight of cheeses, will 
have the moon to be a green specimen of that 
genus. 

" My third accusation is, his exaggerated secta- 
rianism. Unitarianism, carried out to its last con- 
sequences, furnishes his guide to possibility and 
his inmost point of view. I know that he re- 
pugns Unitarianism. But when a man knocks 
down his own papa, he does not thereby cease to 
belong to the family ; nay, if his father has done 
the liko to his grandfather, he is only the more a 
chip of the old block for knocking down his father. 
It is notby going from thick to thin that you alter, 
but by becoming a new mind through both thick 
and thin. But all this is too short to be readily 
intelligible. I have only succeeded in hinting at 
a back ground for this Elfin sword gloom— this 
brother of the lightning; but whether the convts 
will stand his luminous emanations, I cannot 
•ay." 

N.Y. Semi-Weekly Tribune , 
Sat., 11-23-50, p. 2. 



1851 




D n 



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will iii'triift in tlif I\m;i.i«ii ilrunrl nrms mnl Mi Isiukp, 
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II IT ,.ll lll'n-l I I. 



TmistAS Sitt:ttwt\. Km|. 
(■i:nRiiK I 1 ion. r»t| 
i.Kiimik. II Ill.tKE. I.»q. 
Hint. Jims |l*« in. 

SWi.1* 



There lia* been ;i great deal nf tint* writ- 
tnjr, and Home witty writing, at tin- > vo«*mp 
of Mr. Emerson's Lectures; but we liave 
rarely seen anvthui',' In-tter in the shape of 
n notice 1 1 1.111 tin- following, from the Huston 
Cummonneallh, lifter the delivery of the 
opening lecture on Kate, in Mr. K.'h «-<>nr**«- 
at the Masonic Temple: — 

" We tiikc up ttur pen with some reluc- 
tance for 11 few comments on Ihi* li'clnre. 
If we should express adequately the thoughts 
and feelings which it excited" in us, many 
would nttend (he next lecture who have never 
yet heard Mr. Emerson. Some of these 
would heartily thank us, and well they 
might. But the others would be out of 
place in his audience. We feel safest in nil- 
vising people nut to go there. Those who 
do attend and should, have now such 11 deep 
and unrestrained enjoyment, that we arc un- 
willing to have thriii intruded upon by others 
who would make the air of the room cold 
and restless. Not that any would go who 
would think the lecture unimportant. Hut 




artificial ami debilitated condition of tlveir 
systems. Hut he would serve liiein wiui 
yams, cabbages, grouse, ami oxen, which 
had never been in the stew-pans nf parties, 
and brooks and show its undislilled \>\ sec- 
tarian alembics ; but all whole and fresh as 
they came from I he hand of nature, 

" If these people wish to shudder, let them 
think of a man who carries in his head 
telescopes nnd microscopes for elesiving ami 
scrutinizing the universe of abstract truth, 
displaying to bis hearers the character of 
fate; pointing out its beneficence, but also 
its cool spreading of disappointments and 
destruction ; viewing it from within its own 
sphere, then rising above it, subjecting it In 
external measurement, and deducing from 
the whole survey practical rules for the con- 
duct of life. Wu never saw a grander dis- 
play of human power. Yet we could not 
wonder at the power of one who had chosen 
nature for his instructress, anil from the 

frenuino honesty with which be had foll- 
owed her precepts, had acquired that genu- 
Tfev are accustomed to have all their meop lne fearlessness which knows not the um qi 
ttl nutriment minced ami sauced to suit trie eouf«fic." 



1851 

Portrait of Irviucr. 

We spoke, the other day, of Geoffrey 

Crayon's having once more consented to ait for 
his picture. Mr. Martin has just finished it, 
and we fancy there has seldom been a more fe- 
licitous piece of work. It is not only like Ir- 
ving, but like his books— and, though he looks 
as his books read, (whioh is true of few au- 
thors) — and looks like the name of his cottage, 
Sunnyside— and looks like what the world 
think* of him— yet a painter might have missed 
this look, and still have made what many 
would consider a likeness. He sits, leaning his 
head on his hand, with the genial, unconscious, 
courtly composure of expression that he habitu- 
ally wears, and still there is visible the cou- 
chant humour and philosophic inevitableneas of 
perception, which form the strong under-cur- 
rent of his genius. The happy temper and the 
strong intellect of Irving — the joyously indo- 
lent man and the arousably brilliant author — 
ore both there As a picture, it is a fine speci- 
men of Art The flesh is most skilfully cray- 
oned, the poee excellent, the drawing apparent- 
ly effortless and yet nicely true, and the air al- 
together Irvbg-y and gentlemanlike. If well 
engraved, we have him— delightful and famous 
Geoffrey— as he lives, as he is thought to live, 
as he writes, as he talks, and as he ought to bo 
remembered. 

Home Journal . N.Y. , 2-15-51 
THE SONG OF THE RAILROAD. 

BV C. T. WOLFE. 

Through the mould and through the clay, 
Through the corn and through the hay, 
By the margin of the lake, 
O'er the river, through the brake, 
O'er the bleak and dreary moor, 
On we hie with screech and roar ! 
Splashing, flashing, 
Crashing, dashing ! 
Over ridges, 
Gullies, bridges ! 
By the bubbling rill, 

And mill— 
Highways, 
By-ways, 

Hollow-hill— 
Jumping — bumping, 
Rocking — roaring, 

Like 40,000 giants snoring t 
By the lonely hut and mansion, 
By the ocean's wide expansion, 
Where the factory chimneys amok*, 
Where the foundry bellows croak — 
Dash along — 
Slash along — 
Crash along — 
Flash along. 
On, on, with a jump, 
And a bump, 
And a roll — 
Hies the fire-fiend to its destined goal I 
O'er the aqueduct and bog 
On we fly with ceaseless jog, 
Every instant something new, 
Every instant lost to view, 
Now a tavern— now a steeple — 
Now a crowd of gaping people — 
Now a hollow — now a ridge — 
Now a cross-woy— now a bridge— 
Grumble — stumble — 
Rumble — tumble — 
Fretting— getting in a stew ! 

Church and steeple, gaping people 

Quick as thoueht are lost to view ! 



62 

Everything that eye can survey 

Turns hurly-burly, topsy-turvy ! 

Each passenger is thumped, and shaken, 

As physio is when to be taken. 

By the foundry, past the forge, 

Through the plain and raouutain gorge, 

Where cathedral rears its head, 

Where repose the silent dead ; 

Monuments amid the grass 

Flit like spectres as you pass ; 

If to hail a friend inclined, 

Whish ! whirl ! ka-swash !— he's left behind I 

Ruinblo, tumble, all the day — 

Thus we pass the houiB away. 

Ibid .. 3-29-51, p. 4. 



1851 



FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 23. 1861. 

Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson. — The ser- 
vices of this gentleman have been lately called 
into requisition in the political field, for the 
purposo of strengthening tho representation of 
tho Abolition party in tho Congress of the 
United States. His first effort in this depart- 
ment to which our attention has been called', is 
the lecture on the Fugitive Slave Law which 
he has delivered in Worcester on the 15th inst. 
and at Fitchburg on the ICth. A sketch of this 
lecture was published in the Worcester Spy of 
the 17th. We have had also some account of 
it from another uuthentic source. 

The editor of the Spy, well known to be Mr. 
J. M. Knrle, the Free Soil leader of the Coali- 
tion, which linr) assumed the direction of the 
n flairs of the State, introduces his account of 
the lecture, with some remarks, which are in a 
very high strain of eulogy. This circumstance 
is worthy of note for tho following reason. 
Mr. Emerson, though "not mingling," as the 
editor of the Spy observes, "in the active busi- 
ness of life," and never attending political 
meetings, has nevertheless attended and spoken 
at the meetings of the Garrison Abolitionists, 
and may therefore be fairly looked upon as a 
decided Abolitionist of that school. That the 
editor of the Spy, tho Free Soil leader of the 
House of Representatives, should speak of Mr. 
Emerson and of his opinions on the subject of 
slavery in terms of warm commendation, and 
without any caution against the extremes to 
which he has carried them, shews how little re- 
liance can be placed upon the professions which 
the Free Soilcrs make of attachment to the 
Union of the States. Such conduct justly sub- 
jects the Free Soil leaders to the charge of men- 
tal reservation, when they profess attachment 
to the Union. They are attached to it on cer- 
tain conditions, which they know to be imprac- 
ticable; — and they knowingly pursue a course 
which they cannot doubt, if seconded by the 
moss of the people, will destroy it. 

There is much disingenuousness accordingly 
in the manner in which they conduct the agita- 
tion against the Fugitive Slave Law. A prin- 
cipal part of their effort is to represent as 
friends of slavery those who are in favor of ex- 
ecuting the law in good faith, while it is the 
law, and because it is the law. They keep as 






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1851 

or of the Journal of Commerce, which it fol- 
lows so obediently, will repay him." It is not 
for us to institute a comparison of the impor- 
tance to the good name of Mr. Webster of the 
denunciations of Mr. Emerson and the com- 
mendations of this journal. In vindicating his 
pol tical course, we have been influenced by 
the deep conviction, that it was calculated to 
preserve the Union of the States and avert the 
dangers of civil war. We can scarcely believe 
that any one can be really so infatuated, as not 
to feel] that if the views of those who assail 
Mr. Webster should be generally sustained in 
the free States, the Union of the States could 
not last through another session of Congress. 
If these men were not l>eyond the reach of an 
appeal to their reason on this subject, we would 
nsk Mr. Emerson himself, whether he does 
not believe and admit, that if the doctrines of 
his lecture were sustained and enforced in the 
frCe States, the Union would be infallibly sev- 
ered. We would further ask, in what way he 
and those who think with him, suppose that 
this catastrophe would ameliorate the condition 
of the .'Lives. or in nny way promote the cnuseof 
human freedom, or the triumph of human 
rights. 

We see it announced that Mr. Emerson is 
taking an active part in the agitation carried 
on the present week, in the Congressional Dis- 
tricts, where elections are to be made on the 
26th instant. The citizens of those districts 
will, we think, be inclined to ask themselves a 



1851 



63 



few questions, as to the qualifications of Mr. 
Emerson, to act as their counsellor in the dis- 
charge of the importunt duty, which will de- 
volve upon them next Monday. We live in 
times that need prudent and practical men. 
We have never heard Mr. Emersoa ranked in 
this class. He is a gentleman possessed of a 
description of talent which has given him ce- 
lebrity; but we are not aware that he has 
given any proof of the possession of the sound 
judgment or practical wisdom, which cm re- 
commend him as a reliable authority on ques- 
tions of morals, or a safe guide in the affairs 
of life. We recollect that his address at the 
divinity school at Cambridge several years 
ago drew upon him the public rebuke of one 
of the truest and best of men, the lute Dr. 
Henry Warn, Jr. If we are not greatly mis- 
taken, the most [dangerous and objectionable 
sentiments are embodied in that address. 

We do not profess to be very familiar with 
Mr. Emerson's philosophical speculations, but 
we have heard, on very good authority, that as 
far as their tendency can be discerned, through 

the misty jargon in which they are clothed, 
they have presented him in the acknowledged 
character of a perpetual doubter, or inquirer; 
that he has been most anxious to lead his hear- 
ers to the habit of questioning authority of 
every description. We submit that there is 
reason to question the practical value of the 




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NATHANIEL lTA-VrmORNK 

BV KTJFUS W. GUISWOIJ). 
[From tie Interrv.ienii .uag4Z:oe, ior iday.) 

The author of TV House of Seven Gables ia now 
tbout forty-fire years of age. Ko was born in Salem. 
Massachusetts, and i? of a family wLich for several 
generations bag " followed the sea." Amorg hiB an- 
cestors, I believe, was (he " bold HavTthorDC," who 
»« celebrated In a Itevc'utionary ballad as commander 
<A the " Fair American " lie was educated at Uow- 
doln College, in Maine, where ho grauifetcd in 1S25 

Probably he appeared in print before that time, 
I ut his earliest volume van an anonymous and never 
••vowed romance, which was publi?hed in Toston in 
1KS2. It attracted little attention, but emeng tboso 
who read it with a ju?t appreciation of tho author's 
genial, waa Mr. S. G. Goodrich, rrhf itnrrcJm^ely 
•-cured the chrouded stir for I'ht.T&sn, of which he 
* as editor, and through which many cf Hawthorne's 
I test tales and cs^ajs were origira'iy given to t'c> 
paWio. He publiehed in 1837tbofm at,d,in 1^42 
the second volame of his l\oice-Told Talcs, embrac- 
ing whatever he wished to preserve from bis con*ri- 
tctions to the magazines; in 1843 he edited Tit* 
Journal r>f an African Cruiser ; In 1£46 published 
Md%tfi from an Vld Manse, a wooed collection of 
bis magazine papers ; in 1S50 The Hiarkt Lelttr, 
tod in the last month the longest and in romo re- 
spects the mcrt remarkable of hiB works, Tlie House 
<lf Stveti ti obits. 



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| In tbeintrodections to the Mosses from an Old Munse 
• nd The Scarlet Letter* wo have some glimpses of his 

tersonal history. He had been several years in tUc 
nstom Hoqm at H.?ton, while Mr. l!i::Cofi w;es 
« iUector, and af'ervardc had joiped that rotcarkabic 
a-sociation, the "lirook Farm Community," at West 
Itoxbury, where, with r-» hers, he appears to have been 
reconciled U* the old t;tf, rb quite co jnl to the in- 
ventions o'tounftr, St. £>imon, Owen, R^d the re.^t ol 
txjat ingenious company of schemers, who have beco 
lo intent upon a reconstruction of the found-lions of 
»iclety. In 1513, he ^cnt to reside in tbo pl°r.sr.nt 
Tillage of Concord, in tha •• i »id M»rjfe," whieh Lad 
tever been profaned by a lay occnj.snt until he en- 
tered it as his home. In the intrudaotion to 'J hi 
/'losses he says : 

"A priest had built it-; a priest had Fuecrcded to 
it ; other prit?tly men, from tiuo to time, had dwelt 
hi it ; and children, born in its chambers, hid grown 
»P to assume the prie-tly character. It was awful to 
reflect how many sermons must have been written 
there. The latest inhabitant alone — he, by whose 
translation to Paradise the dwelling was left vacant — 
had penned nearly three thousand di?courfe;, bes ; des 
the better, it not „the greater number, that gushed 
living from his tip*. How often, no doubt, had he 
paced to and fro nlong the avenue, at'uuing his medi- 
tations, to the sighs a^d gentle murmurs, and doep 
and solemn peals of the wind, omo^g tho lefty tops 
of the trees! In that varioty of natural ufcr.inccs, 
be could find somethirg accordant wivb ev*ry pas- 
sage of his sermon, were it of tetiderne ; s or reverential 
f> ar. The boughs o^vr my bead s: modth^dory 
v ith Bolcmn thocr/h'?, as well as with rudtl'-E-g 
leaves. 1 took Ehame to mysolf lor havi r g been 
•o long a writer of idle storios, and vtuturcd to h.-.pe 
that wisdom would deio*nd upon me wi;h the falling 



1851 

leaves of the avenue- ; and lu^: 1 s-iiuid UgM upon 
an intellectual treasure, in the Old Manse, vre-U worth 
those hoards of long-hidden goli, which : f pie- task 
for in moss-grown house?. l J r,!ound treu'.r , s of mo- 
rality — a Jaymans unprofessics 1, and therefore un- 
prejudiced views of religion ; histories (such as Ban- 
croft might have written, bad Le taken up his Kbode 
here, as he once purposed,) bright wi:h picture, 
gleaming over a depth of pbiU-scphic thou;:"::; these 
were the works that might fitly havo flowei from such 
a retirement. In tb; humbiert event, 1 re-=oivcd at 
least to achieve a novel, that should cvoi.e b^me 
deep lesson, and should po??e5s physical suWstauoa 
enough to stand alece. In furtherance of my design, 
and ai if to leave me no pretext lor not lull i:ug it, 
there was, In the rear of tb; house, the aiu.-c de- 
lightful little nook of a etaij that ever efJerei its 
Uiug seclusion to a scholar. It vras hero tbit \l per- 
son wrote 'Iv'ature ;' for he «:? then an inb.ubir.ant 
of the Manse, and nf cd to wat: a the Assyrian du^n 
and the Paphian sun?et and moon-rise, from the 
summit of our eastern hill. When 1 first :;iw the 
n om, its walls were blackened with the *- ■•.•ke of un- 
numbered years, and made Btili i;';p.ck;r by ilie grim 
prints of Puritan minister? that huug atour.a. 
These worthies looked straiigo.y like bid argils, or, 
at leart,' like men who had westled st cc,utir_ualiy 
and so sternly with the devil, that 8\> Die what of Lis 
sooty fierceness bad been imparled to thc>r o vn 
Tisagc3. They had all var.iii.cd now ; a chcoifui 
ooat of paint, and gold tinted p-iper hangings, lighted 
*p the small apariment ; while the sha,uyw ol u wil- 
low-tree, that swept against the overhanging caves, 
attemp-ercd the cheery western sunshine. In place of 
tLe gnm printe, there was the sweet and lovely head 
Of one of Raphael's Madonnas, and two pleoiant lit- 
tle pictares of the Lake of Ccrno. Tho cu.y othor 
decorations were a purple vaf e of flower?, always 
fresh, and a bror.z* one containing graceful forus. 
My bc-oks (few, and by do rnians choice, for they 
were chiefly such waifs as chance had thrown in my 
way,) stood In ordar about the loom, seldom to be dis- 
turbed .»' 

In big home at Concord, thai happily dr-cribed, in 
tl.e mi-iel of a few congen'al friends. Hvwlhurne 
passed throe years ; and, •■ in a rpot so sheltered from 
tie turmoil of life's ocean," he says, "threo years 
hasten away with a noiseless li got, as a bre-.sy sun- 
el ine chases tha cloud-shadow; across the depths of a 
Ht'H valley." But a: length hUieposa was invaded by 
that ** spirit of improvement" which is so constantly 
marring the happiness of quiet-loving people, and he 
was ccmpclled to look out lor another rc'Jenro. 

" Now came hint.?, growing more and more dis- 
tinct, that the owner of the eld house was pining 
for bis native air. Carpenters next appeared, 
making a tremendous racket smong the outbuild- 
iegs, strewing green grass wi:h pina Fh.arirgsi.nd 
chips cf chestnut jcLsrs, and vexing the whole an- 
tiquity of the place with their di.-cordant renova- 
tions. Soon, moreover, they divested our abodo 
of the veil of woodbine whi:h had crept over a 
Urge portion of its southern face. AH the aged 
mosses were cleared cnsparingly away ; and 
there were horrible whispers about brushing up 
the external walls with a coat of paiut — a purpose as 
little to my taste as might be that of rougirg tho 
venerable checks of oce's grandmother. Jiui the 
hand that renovator is always more saorilegiocs than 
tbat which destroys. In fine, we gattered np oar 
household goods, drank a farewell cup of tea in our 
pleasant little breahfp.ft-rooin— delicately-fr»fT*ot 
t#a, an unpurcbasablc luxury, ene of the many ar -el- 
gifts tbat bad fallen like dew upon us — and r~—,-«4 
forth between the tall stone gatu-posta, as unctrt&ia 
as the wandering Arabs where our tent might next 
bo pitched. Providence took me by the hand, trd— 
an oddity of dispensation which, 1 trust, there is no 
irreverence in smiling at — has led me, as the cewc- 
I spors announce, while I am writing, from th» oid 



64 

iianseintoa Custom House ! As a etory-t«J-*r. 1 
litve often contrived straaga vioiscitudes for my 
imaginary personages, but none like this. The tie*- 
tere of intellectual gold vrhich 1 hed hoped to find in 
our secluded dwelling, had never come to light- No 
profound treatise of ethics — no philosophic niitcry — 
no novel, even, that could stand unsupported oo its 
edges— all that 1 had to show, as a man of letters, 
trere those few tales and essays, which bad blossomed 
out like flowers in the cairn summer of my heart and 
mind." 

The Mosses from an Old Manse he declared the 
last offering of their kind he should over put 
forth ; " unless 1 can do better," he wrote ia 
th's Introduction, *" I have done enough ia this 
hi. id." He went to his place in the Ccvom 
House, in his native city, and if Prej-dint 
Taylor's advisers had not been apprehensive 
that in his devotion to ledgers ho would neglec; the 
more important duties of literature, perhaps we 
should have heard no moro of him ; but those patrio- 
tic) men, remembering how much they had ecjiyed 
tho reading of Z trice- To/cZ 7<</r«andihe Mos*tt, In- 
duced the appointment m his place of a whig, who 
hsd no capacity lor making books, end in the jjr.ng 
of last year we cad The Scarlet Litter. 

Like most of his shorter stories, The Sea-let Let- 
ter finds its scene and time with the enriier Puritans. 
Its argument involves tho analysis and action cf re- 
morse in the heart of a person who, himself unssi- 
pseted, is compelled lo astist in tha punishment of 
tho partner of his guilt. This peculiar and po.-trfal 
fietion at once arretted attention, and claimed f. r its 
author tho eminence as a novelist which his pre nous 

} performances had secured for him as a writer of talis. 
ta whole atmosphere and tho qualities of its ciirtc- 
ta.s demanded lor a creditable tuccess very ungual 
capacities. 'Ihe frivolous costume and brisk aciioa 
of the story of fashionable life are easily depicted by 
tho practised Bketcher, but a work like The Sewijt 
letter comes slowly upon tho canvas, where paifk-as 
aro commingled and overlaid with the deliberate and 
masterly elaboration with which the grandest eztt'.a 
aro produced in pictorial composition aad coltrtig. 
It it a distinction of such works tbat while they are 
aooeptable to tho maay, they also surprise and de- 
light tho few who appreciate the nicest urraogrm-st 
aod the most high aud caieTul finish. The £c«rlct 
IiCtter will challenge consideration in the nac* of 
Art, in the best audience wnicu in any age rectircs 
Cervantes, Le Sage, or Scott. 

Following this romance euino new editions of Tme 
Stories frcm IJistcry and Biography, a- volume for 
youthful readers, ai.d ot thd Twia-Told 'lata, la 
tua prelace to tho latter, underrating much the repu- 
tation he has acquired by them, ho Kays : 

"The author of Tunie-i'ola Takt has a claim to 
cae distinction, which, as noco of his literary breth- 
ren will eare about disputing it with him, he ne* i not 
bo afraid to mention, tie was for a good many ytars 
tho obscurest man ol letters ia America. These sto- 
ries were published in magazines and annuals, ex;tr.d- 
i.ig over a period ot ten or twelve years, andcoatpri- 
eu*g tne whole of the writer's young manhood, wita- 
cat making (so far as he haf ever been aware) tne 
slightest impression ou the public-. One or two 
toiong them, the Hill frcm the Town Pump, ia per- 
haps a greater degree than any other, hadaprvi'y 
wide newspaper circulation ; as for the rest, ne 
Ln no grounds for supposing that on their Drai ap- 

toarance they met with the good ox evil fortune to 
s read by anybody. Throughout the time above 
fc,K.-cified, he had no incitement to literary effort, ia 
a reasonable prospect ot reputation or pre i; ; 
nothing- but the pleasure itself cf composition— an 
eajoyment not at all amiss in its way, u^J pcr^ 
Laps essential to the merit of the work ia tLaa-i, 
Le'.whioh, in the leng run, will hardly keep thd 
c 1.11 out of a writer's heart, or the nuinboes* out 
of his fingers. To this total lack of sympathy, at 



33 




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1851 

business and perhaps still les9 bis interest, he can 
hardly rotist a temptation to achieve something of the 
sort. If writ? rB were allowed to do so, and would per- 
form the task with perfect sincerity and unreserve, 
their opinions of their own productions would often 
be more valuable and instructive than tho works 
themsdve?. At a'.l evest.-, there can bo no harm In 
the «uU:or'r remarkkg thr.t he rather wonders how 
tho Tvne-TM 'I «/eS8U0uUi have gained what vogue 
they did, than that it was jo little and so gradual.— 
ll.ry hive the pair-tint of Cowers that blossomed in 
too rriivJ a s-ha-lo— the cooino*3 of a meditative 
habit, which t-ifuues. iteclf through the fooling ami 
r.bacrvution c: every tLc.eh. 4 Instead of pwsicn, 
th'ro i" t?ut!mcnt ; anil, even in what purport to he 
ptsTMirc ( f actual '••1$, we havo e.l!egory, not, always 
i-o v.ari:'y dressed, in its habiliment? of flrsh and 
blood r.s to l»c taLen into the reader's mind without a 
fairer.' Wither from Ir.ck of power or an uuoon- 
cpcraMe re rrvc, the author's touches havo often an 
caret of tsm n? Ci ; tho merriest man can hardly enn- 
triva to langh at his broadest humor, tho tendercst 
ncm^n, o^e would suppose, will hardly shod watm 
tears nt his deepest pathos. The book, if you would 
rco nuy thing in it, requires to be read in the clear, 
brown, twilrjnt atmosphere in which it was written; 
if opened isthe sunshine, it is apt to look exceeding- 
ly like a volume of blank pages. 

"The author would regret to bo understood as 
sneaking sourly or qacrulou-iy of the elight mark 
mado by his earlier literary efforts on tuo public 
at large. It is to far the contrary, that he has 
beea moved to write this prcfaco, chiefly as afford- 
ing him an opportunity to express how mnch ex- 
j .vaieai he h-H o^cd to these volomes, both be- 
i ire and since th.ir publication. They are- the 
memorials of voiy tranquil and not'uihappy years, 
lhiy ivied, it is true— nor could it uuve been 
oi-a-Vsv.^— in winning an extorsive popularity. — 
Occasionally, however, v-hrn he deon-cd them en- 
r-cly forgotten, a paragraph er r.c article, freoa s 
nerve cr iurciga eruio, i-cu'd gr;;Virj L-is insticcU o : 
nuihors'aip wiih unexpected prai?e. — ;oo geECr.iu? 
pmiie. indeed, and too tittle aiiojei with ccasure, 
uu::-, taerefoiA, ho learned the better to kilie- 
ni-oa £'..r.s:!f. And, by-lhe-by, it is a very suspicious 
symf.ciii of a deficiency oi the popular cicniint in a 
book when it calls forth no harsh criticism. This 
ba? ba-A particularly th9 fortuno ol the Twiet'To',4 
Tales. They uade no enemies, and were so little 
known and talked about, that those who read, and 
chanced to hkc thorn, were apt to conceive the 6ort 
of kindness for the book, wtiich a person naturaLy 
feols ior r. discovery of his own. This kindly fooling 
(in s. nieca-es, E.1 least) extended to the author, wbo. 
on tLe imernp.l cvideoco of hie sketches, came to be 
regarded as a mild, shy, gentle, melancholic, exceed- 
ingly scrs;*ive, i^id not very forcible man, hiding hi* 
b:u-:"h--s unGer an at-nrsfd name, the quaintness of 
^Lirli was tupposed, eoiachow or other, to Eymbokz* 
rr.s psrsaanl ~nd lircrary traits, lie is by no m6ELs 
ecrta.i Llii' c oue of bis subsequent productions bare 
net been iLllttenced and modiacd by a natural desire 
to £;1 up fo valuable un outline, and to act in coaso- 
•iai.ee w;th tr,c ch i meter assigned to him ; nor, even 
iiv«, ecu. a i-o lori-.-t it without a few tears of tender 
;-;.l.;j. To toselade, however, — these volume? 
:.ave rrcuc-d the -.vv-7 to most egr?eablo associations, 
acd .j ;u„ l.ri^atio sfcf iniporisbubie lriend?hip3 ; stjo 
iSic-e arc siw.y gobica threids, interwoven with his 
piv:C-t Lr.p, ij.t-as, %nijhhe canfolbwup more or lesi 
uirtc'.iy, ur.tii oj Cids ibou" commencement here ; io 
tha. liia y:s-rr.:»: ^!-wav Rir.»cg realties teem? t^, 
proceed out oi th3 Drcaui-Lsind of his youth, and to 
be uoraueJ wi.a just osough of its shadowy folsgc 
to tacit. r him liora iho heat of the day. Hew, 
therefore, sattsMed with what the Twice-Told TaUr 
have '1 jne for him, and feels it to be far better thaa 
faiae." 



65 
j nu: there should be any truth in this statement 
tba: the public was so slow to recognise so tine a 
gr.'iiu - , is a mortiiyiisg evidencs of the worthleis- 
titH oi a literary pojuiarity. Bat it may be said 
of riawthoiui's lame that it has grown steadily, and 
tha; while many wiio have received the turbulent aj:- 
piaa<c ot it'.- muititade smcc he began his career are 
fuigoitcn, it ^as widened and brigatoned, until h;i 
nn^je is umong the vety h;ghtst,iu nis demain of art, 
to fihiae tacro with a lustre eqaaLiy serene and ea- 

QU.IU'. 



*.:-. Ilawllicrno's!: 

G :•..:. a r-ui ititj oi 

(■'^lu-.l. Iltit K;-- : t:i 

lL-i ^-.lic; Litter. 
ijj-- »•:;•.••. h.ro furpa^i': 



st work i3 The lL.-are of S,ii i 
■ he present day. li is not J;.-: 
king, n-.»t i:-ss powetful, tLau 
W'v d.iubt, indeed, wbother h^ 
A either of tbo three strot< # :." 
contrasted characcers of the boe-k. An inaocont *ma 
j'.»ycus cMild-wotnaa, i'l.obe J'ycchejn, comes frjm 
a iarci-uou: o luto the grand and gloomy old miction 
wLvie her lii-t&nt relation, Hepzibah luncheon, an 
ari«".ocratical i.ud fearfully ugly but kini-bearted un- 
u.r\'J woman cl ti^iy, is just coming down from 
her irJcd • ais to k.ep in one of her drawing-rooaj a 
email but. j, that the may bo abo to maiouiu 
an elder brother who is evoiy moment exptot- 

ed homo ,trom a prison to which iu bia yoatb, ne 
had beea condemned unjustly, and ia the eileat 
eoiitade of which he haa kept some liaeaaaeaU 
of gentleness while his hair au grown white, 
and asenso of tcauty while his brain haa beooose dii- 
ordered and "un heart has beea crtubed aad all pre- 
set: inlluences of beauty have b*ea qnite shut oat. 
'1 he House of beven Gables ia the poreet piece of 
uuu^iuation in cur prose literature. 

I us characteriiiies of Hawthorne which first ar- 
re?t the attention are imagination aad reflection, and 
taesa are exhibited in remarkable power and activity 
in taies audes^ayF, ot which the s'j lo is distingabhed 
fur great simpiic.ty, purity and tranqaillity. His 
L-t-uului story of lUtppacinl'S Daughter was orlgi- 
nu-:i> publisiiod in tbo Democratic Review, as a 
tMbsiauun hum th;< i'rcncu of one M. deTAobepiae, 
r. m.or whoi?e v^iy namo, he remarks in a brief ia- 
trc-dactioii, (in vrh-.ch he givos in Krench the titles of 
of come of hiK tnles, as Coutn dmx Joix ruemuttt, 
f* Cuile «i« /Vu, etc) " is unkaswo to many of his 
( cur.trymen, ai Rell as the ttudvct of foreign litera- 
ture."' He describes himself, uadot this Homme dt 
y uine, as ono who — 

♦'6ofcms to occupy an unfortunate position between 
the trancendcrt&libU (who under one- name or aa- 
other have their share in all the current literature of 
the world,) and the groat body of pen-and-ink men 
who address the intellect and sympathies of the mul- 
ti.udo. If not too refined, at all events too remote, 
too shadowy and unsubstantial, in his mode of de- 
velopment, to suit the taste of the latter class, aad yet 
too popular to satisly the spiritual or metaphysical 
requisitions of the former, he must necessarily find 
himself without an audience, except here and ther? 
sa individual, or possibly an isolated clique." 

llis writings, to do toemjust.ee, he says— • 

" Are not altogether destitute of fancy and origi- 
nality ; they might have won him greater reputa- 
tion but for an inveterate love of allegory, whioa is 
ipt to invosTCiS plots ai.d characters' With the aspect 
et sc-.ncry and people iu the cicuds, and to stoal 
iwa r tbe human warmth tut cf his conceptions. His 
ictioua tro ooa;etimes historical, somettmes of the 
present d^y, £ud sonieuoies, ro iar » s can be discov- 
ered, havo little or no rctlrt ica either to time or 
pace, la at. j case, ho g*neii.iiy contenU himself 
^.tu a very ss.ght 6i<jbroidery ol outward manners— 
th- fainter p ...bie connterieit of real life — and en- 
deavors to create an interest *>x some less obvious pe- 
culiarity of the iubjejt. Occasionally a breath of 
nature, a rain drop of pathos and tenderness, cr a 
gleam of humor, will finds its way into the midst of 



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1851 

else in hie works to have cos: some etturt. The sen- 
t.e iadnc;, the "ball acknowiegei melaacholy, of 
■lid uiiiDu-.r and relleciious, are more natural and 
Oiiaraoterrsttc 

His style is studded with the most poetical image- 
ry, aud marked in evcrj part with ti.e happiest 
graces oi tspression, wi:ie it U calm, chaste, and 
lijwiLj*, tod trar.spaicnit-* water. Ihereisa habit 
among nearly al the writers of imaginative litera- 
ture, ot aJuit crating the conversations of the poor 
with barbarioma and grammatical blenders whioh 
hu.ve iio mote ndolity man elegance, Hawthorne's 
iutt-grity, tn well ad his exquisite taste, prevented 
hiiii lruu falling iato this error. Ibeic is not in the 
world a iargc rum! population that spo-kd its native 
lr.c^ua^'.- T.-.th a puritj approaching that with whioh 
tbb iiugiieii is spoken by the common people of New 
Lu&lu;.d. ike vulgar words aud phrases, which, in 
other ct&ics, are 6uppo«:d to be peculiar to thu part 
ol tbo ccuntry, are unknown east of the Hudson, ex- 
ocpt to (bo readers ol torei^n newfpapere, or the iist- 
diiois to loir comedians wio bnd it profitable Co eoa- 
<cy encu uovekies iato Conoectieat, Ma*»swhasett», 
axtd, Ytt&ivat. 



1852 




Ma. THOBBAtr'e Lsctihb — Thoaa of our rradera 
who wish to hear tomethiDg freah and invigorating 
in literature, thould not fa.il to attend thi» evening 
at Cochituate Hall. No eubject auite Mr. Thoreau 
better, as a text, than Life in the Wooda. and per- 
hi.pa no man in the world U better qualiBed from 
ditpoiition and experience, to treat that eubject 
profitably. Conventionaliama hire about aa much 
.nfluence over him, aa OTer a foreat tree or the birde 
'n ita branchee. And a. with hie freehneee of 
thought he unitei a rare maturity of echolarehipt 
he can entertain any one who la not muffled in more 
than ordinary dullness. 



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HONOURS TO LITERARY MEN. 






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Ir literature is to flouriib in this country, 
the oalling of the literary man must be made 
dignifiod, and honourable, and eminent. The 
love of distinction is probably the most pre- 
vailing inQuenoe in American society. It is 
gratified so promptly and so poignantly in po- 
litical and editorial lifo, that few of the bright 
npirits that might vindicate for themselves 
abiding places upon the cairn heights of fame, 
can withstand the temptations that are pre- 
sented to youthful sensibility by systems whose 
promises are felt at that age to be rewards, 
and whose rewards are found at a later period 
to be only promises. The Present, like the 
Poet's monster — barking, restlets and vora- 
cious — always feeding, and always famished — 
seems to be eternally devouring the Perma- 
nent, yet becoming no better favoured for ita 
banquet. How many great authors — we mean 
great authors of great works — will the now 
rising generation in our country give to re- 
nown '? The glory of a huadred writers is in 
all our newspapers — and there, alas ! it will 
remain forever. We fear that tbe future his- 
torian of letters, as he looks backward over 
these days, will have little to record but a 
series of fair auguries, fading away just as 
they seemed to be blooming into fulfilment — 
a tale of noble natures snatched into the cap- 



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1853 



ROBERT W. WEIR. 



The comparative seclusion in which this 
great artiat has lived sinoe his appointment to 
the West Point Military Aoademy, has been 
highly favourable to the production of fine 
works, though let>s so, to their sale. Mr. Weir 
has a number of very valuable piotures hang- 
ing upon bis own walls, whioh are riohly 
worthy of a place in public galleries and the 
ehoioest private collections. Some of these it 
is our intontion to describe and comment upon 
on a future, and, we trust, early oooasion. 
Meanwhile, wo strongly recommend collectors 
who desire to possess the best attainable pro- 
ductions, and only such, to visit Mr. Weir's 
studio at West Point, and, at least, enjoy a 
view of his recent works. 

We observe that Genoral Totten has once 
more called the attention of Congress to the 
injustice that has been so long done the Pro- 
fessors of Drawing and Frenoh at the Military 
Academy, and has recommended them to be 
placed on the eame footing, with regard to 
omolumont as the other professors. To this 
recommendation, no reasonable objection has 
ever been so much as suggested. In the edu- 
cation of a soldier, proficiency in the art of 
drawing is a thing essential. The duties of a 
professor of that art, in an institution like 
that of West Point, must necessarily be most 
arduous, as they are most important. We in- 
voke tho attention of members of Congress to 
the proposal of General Totten, and trust that 
the session will not be suffered to pass with- 
out decisive action being taken upon it. We 
annex a sketch of Professor's Weir's history, 
oareer and genius, from Mr. Henry T. Tuok- 
erman's " Artiat Life ; or, Sketches of Ameri- 
can Painters." Our readers will find it ex- 
ceedingly interesting and finely written : — 

To be thoroughly appreciated, the soenery 
of the Hudson should be viewed in mid- 
winter as well as at more inviting seasons. 
Whon the ico Bbivers beforo the prow of the 
steamer, and the high and lonely hills on 
either side are snow-olod ; when the only 
hues that relieve the surrounding whiteness 
are the pale blue of the sky and tho dark 
groen of the firs und cedars, a scene is present- 
ed moro striking to tho imagination, from the 
roverso it affords to tho name picture when 
alive with tho freshness of spring, or mellow- 
ed by the glow of autumn. Analogous to 
suoh a contrast in that between the phases of 
Weir's destiny when he sailed "up tho noble 
rivft*, thirty years ago— exiled, by the mis- 
for vdnes of his father, while yet a ohild, to the 
hewe of an ungenial relative, his young, yet 
already troubled eyes, bent on the cold na- 
tures of that wintry landscape— and when he 
now looks from his romantio abodo upon the 
wild umbrago of Cro'nest, the honourod 
teaohor of West Point, and tho artist of estab- 
lished famo. 

Burns immortalized a sentiment common to 
all men of genius, when he declared indepen- 
dence to be the " glorious privilege" for which 
alone money was desirable. It is a trait of 
artist-life, evidenced in countless biographies, 
to chafe under a sense of obligation, ana con- 



67 
temn all interference unauthoriied by sym- 
pathy. It is in this spirit that Hamlet enu- 
merates, among his other reasons in the fa- 
mous soliloquy, for indifferenoe to life, the 
" the spurns which-pationt merit of the un- 
worthy takes." In boyhood, Weir Bacrifiood 
his inclinations to filial duty, and postponed 
the indulgence of his aspiring tastes, rather 
than be the oooasion of needless solicitude to 
those interested in his welfare. Even they 

acquiesoed in the expediency of securing an 
eduoation, however limited, and after a year's 
vain attempt to reconcile himself to the home 
offered by his kinsman, he returned to New- 
York. It has often been remarked that very 
slight oiroumstanocs affeot the destiny of thote 
who possess marked characteristics. It hap- 
pened that the houso where young Weir at- 
tended school was directly opposite the rooms 
of Jarvis, tho paintor. At that period studios 
were by no meatl* ccumon, and this one — as- 
sociated as it was vjit'i a popular name, and 
enshrining the mysteries of an art compara- 
tively little knovVn and less practised — bocame 
a sort of enchanted spot to tho schoolboy. Day 
after day ho loitered about the door, and at 
last summoned courage to enter. The painter 
was absent, but several of his pupils were at 
work, and they became interested by tho ar- 
dent curiosity of their visiter, and kindly re- 
plied to his many questions. Hero, for the 
first time, ho saw Inman, little imagining that 
after years would unite them so cordially in 
the glorious brotherhood of Art. This epi- 
sode of his early youth, while it awakened the 
latent desires of the artist, did not beguile 
him from the stern duties of the man. A 
situation was obtained for him in a respectable 
Frenoh mercantile ooncorn at the south, and 
in eighteon months a branoh was established 
in New- York, of which he was made head 
clerk. It was then that ho formed the reso- 
lution gradually to emancipate himself from a 
fiursuit which required either capital or a life- 
ong drudgery to accomplish its ends, by cul- 
tivating his own powers until they should be- 
come availablo resources both for subsistence 
and fame. From six to eight in tho morning 
he studied with a painter in heraldry, and 
then entered upon his daily tafrk. After the 
usual trials of patience, he produced, in 1821, 
a oopy of a portrait which obtained for him a 
liberal commission. Thus encouraged, he turn- 
ed his entire attention to painting. 

Before visiting Europe, Weir sought effect 
in art. through a bold and rapid style. The 
great advantage he derived from tho study of 
master-pieces abroad, was a oonviction of the 
need of careful and elaborate finish. Like 
most American painters, ho learned that he 
had commenced whore he should have ended, 
that he had boldly launched upon an adven- 
turous career without duo preparation. He 
now understood what lasting and brilliant 
triumphs could bo realized through patience. 
There is a spirit of calm, progressive labour 
essential to groat success in Art, to whioh the 
very atmosphere of our country seems un- 
favourable, and faith in this influence is per- 
haps the choicest blessing which our artists 
acquire in the Old World. Woir naturally 
reverenced truth ; he needed but to seo hor 
light in order to aocopt it; and as he beheld 
the trophies of his beautiful profession in the 
galleries of Italy, and reoogniscd tho tranquil, 
pains-taking, and earnest labour to which 
alone can bo ascribed thoir onduring fame, he 
determined to acquire habits of care and pre- 
cision, and learn to express his ideas without 



1852 

vagueness, and in the dear, well-defined, and 
highly-finished manner that ho now know to 
be tho genuine language of art. Thero is no 
more excellent test of charaotor than a revolu- 
tion of habits. Weir brought all his energies 
to this task. He became, for a short lime, the 
pupil of Bevenuti, who was then adorning the 
Pitti Palace with the life of Hercules in fresco. 
From the figures of tho Grecian mythology he 
turned to tho simplest natural objects in the 
fields and by tho roadside, and practised draw- 
ings from the models and oasts of the aca- 
demy, while he enlarged his ideas of colour by 
the study of Titian and Paul Veronese. For 
him, as well as for other strangors, It was im- 
possible to reconcile the enthusiasm of the 
modern Italians for the warm tints of the Ve- 
netian school, with their own cold and mono- 
tonous hues, and tho proficiency of their best 
painters as draughtsmen, with their inade- 
quate notions of colour. After painting two 
sacred themes — "Christ and Nicodemus," and 
" The Angel Relieving Peter" — at Florence, 
one rainy day in December, 1825, he ontered 
Rome. Greenough and hi mself occupied rooms 
together on the Pinoian hill, opposite the house 
of Claude Loraino, and between those known 
as Salvator Rosa's and Nieolo Poussin's. Weir's 
account of his lil'o at Rome resembles that of 
other students who go thither for improve- 
ment — exhibiting tho same quiet habits, in- 
tense applioation, occasional holidays, and 
cheerful economy. Early in the day he stu- 
died at home, or drew from the antique at the 
French Aoademy ; after breakfast it was his 
custom to go to the Sistine Chapel, tho Vati- 
can, or somo private palace, and work until 
three o'clock, when they were closed. He 
then either sought his own studio, or tho ad- 
jacent campagna to sketch from nature. 

With an appetito sharpened by exorcise, he 
repaired towards evening to a favourite trat- 
toria — onco tho painting-room of Pompio Bas- 
soni, whose boundless egotism Reynolds has 
reoorded — and after dining, joined Lis brother 
artists at the Caff6 del Greco. From tho fra- 
grant smoke and light-hearted chat of this 
unique rendezvous, Weir hastened to the life- 
school , and at nine o'olock, when the nights 
were fine, went forth amid the moonlight to 
enrioh his portfolio with views of the ruins. 
and his memory with dreams whoso touching 
solemnity melts the heart and exalts the fan- 
cy. It is a characteristic anecdote of artist- 
life, that at this period he lived a month upon 
ten oents a day, in order to atone for the ex- 
travagant'purchase of a suit of armour. The 
basis of all real mental aptitude and power is 
doubtless good sense, and Weir evinced his re- 
lianoe on this quality by the judicious uso he 
made .of his experience abroad. He saw and 
condemned the slavery of the Italians to the 
past, their bigoted adhcrenco to a certain 
manner, and their want of sympathy with na- 
ture ; and whilo he availed himself of what 
was really desirable in schools, kept his atten- 
tion fixed ohicfly upon truth, wherever disco- 
verable. In cherishing this independent spi- 
rit, ho was true to his birthright, and because 
ho loved the beautiful as illustrated in Italy, 
oeased not to be faithful to the freo principles 
of thought and sentiment ho had brought from 
America. 

It is curious to note how tho ideal and pro- 
saic sometimes meet in the lives of artists. 
Their pursuits ally them to the world uf ima- 
gination, to the domain of the beautiful, to a 
contemplative and abstract sphere ; while 
their actual existence, like that of other men, 



1852 

ia environed by circumstance which sumo poet 
justly oalls the unspiritual god. The pecuni- 
ary reverses of his father obliged Weir, in the 
very heyday of his youth, to ontor a cotton 
factory : but in a few months ho was dismissed, 
for having so carolossly attended tho spinning 
jennies, and eo aptly caricatured one of his 
supervisors. In the midst of influences so op- 
posed to his instincts, one naturally wonders 
that they should have asserted themselves. 
Yet there is no truth bettor established than 
the supremacy of naturo and oharactor ovor 
conventionalism and aocident. It may bo long 
boforo tho " clcotric ohain" is struck, but when 
onoo the spark ignites, tho promptings of des- 
tiny are conscious and permanont. " What 
then is tasto V says Akenside — 

" What then la ta«t», bat thane internal powers 
Active »nl strong, and feelingly alive 
To each fine iaipulHo ' 

Thin, nor gema nor stores of gold, 
Nor purple »Utc, nor culturo can bestow . 
But God alone, when first bin active hand 
Imprints the secrot bias of the soul " 

That secret bias was revealed to Woir in the 
ooarso of his desultory reading. Ho fell in 
with a copy of Drydon's translation of Du 
Fresnoy's poem. The triumphs of tho art, so 
melodiously set forth in thoso heroio couplets, 
stirred the Tory heart and drew tears from the 
eyes of the entauaiaetio boy. In suob a peace- 
ful field he longed to win the laurel, and al- 
ready beheld in fanoy the hallowed trophies, 
and felt the magio gifts commemorated by the 
poet: — 

" Set Raffaell* there hie forms celestial trace, 
Unrivalled sovereign of the realm! of f i are | 
8oe Angelo, with energy divine, 
Belz* on the summit of correct design ; 
Learn how at Julio's birth the muses smiled, 
And in their myatio caverns nursed the child , 
Bright beyond all the rest, Oorregio flings 
Hie ample lights, and round them gently bring! 
The miugliDg ahade : in all hia works we view 
Grandeur of style and chaatity of hue. 
Yet higher still great Titian dared to soar . 
II* reached the loftiest heights of colouring's power : 
Ilia friendly tints in happieat mixture flow , 
Ills shades and lights their just gradation know : 
His were those dear delusions of the art 
That round, relieve, inspirit every part. 
From all their charms combined, with happy toll, 
Did Annibal compose his wondrous style ; 
O'er the fair fraud so close a veil is thrown, 
That every borrowed grace becomos hia own." 

The illness of a countryman and fellow-stu- 
dent induced Weir to relinquish his proieot of 
a tour in the north of Italy, and a brief so- 
journ in France. His cheerful abandonment 
of designs so ardently oherished and fitted to 
enlarge his views of art, for the purpose of ful- 
filling his duties as a friend, indioates a true 
nobility of heart. Indeed, we have seldom 
known more loyal and disinterested vigils than 
were those kept by the generous painter be- 
side his suffering companion ; nor did his as- 
siduous kindness terminate until he had con- 
voyed the invalid in safety to his distant home. 
Thoso who have known what it is to meet III- 
nefs and death in a foreign land, when every 
pang is rendered more acute by the desolate 
sensation of exile, oan alone realize how pre- 
cious are ministrations suoh as these. In a 
spirit worthy of a true artist, Weir yielded 
his personal objoots, ceased his winsome stu- 
dies, and turned aside from the attractive ob- 
jects around him, to watoh over his country- 
man. He left the shores of Europo with the 
regret which his limited acquaintance with 
her treasures of art would naturally excite in 
suoh a mind. He was cheered, however, by 
the satisfaction of having Saved the life of a 
gifted brother, and the hope of subsequently 



68 
revisiting the scenes of their mutual studies. 
Circumstances soon led him indefinitely to 
postpone the realization of this idea. "1 feel 
myself," he observes in a letter written a few 
years after, " anchored for life, especially as 1 
havo some little kedges out which have moor- 
ed me to tho soil." 

We havo alluded more than once to the dis- 
couragements which obstruct artist-life in 
America, its comparative isolation and want 
of sympathy, and the necessity of sacrificing 
largo designs to immodiate exigencies. In 
view of theso shadows in tho common lot of 
artists, Weir may be oonsidorod as more than 
usually fortunate. The immediate successor 
of Leslie, lie has for tho last ten years filled 
the office of instructor in drawing at the U. S. 
Military Aoademy at West Point. It is a field 
of eminent, though unpretending usefulness, 
and its duties occupy only a certain portion of 
the day, so that ample leisuro remains for the 
artist's private labours. The choice of Woir 
was most happy for the institution. His tone 
of character, habits of method, and personal 
bearing, not less than his high reputation as a 
painter, give a dignity to tho situation ; and, 
as might have been confidently predioted, both 
officers and cadets regard him with tho great- 
est prido and affection. As to the success 
which attonds his instructions, it is onough 
perhaps to say, that the average degree of me- 
rit evinced by the drawings exhibited at the 
last examination, quite astonished all pre- 
sent who had been accustomed to think that 
proficiency in this branch depends upon a 
special endowment. 

Weir's isolated position, and the oonfino- 
ment for most of the year inoident to his of- 
fice, have tended for some time past to keep 
him from the publio eye. Yet a late visit to 
his studio impressed us with the oonviction 
that there are few of our resident artists to 
whom commissions may be more satisfactorily 
given. He is less interrupted in his vocation, 
and his attention less distracted, than is the 
oase with metropolitan limners. His portfo- 
lios are rioh in promising designs, from which 
most desirable selections for finished pictures 
may easily be ohosen. One in particular 
struck us as most happily conceived. It rep- 
resents our Saviour and- the two disciples in 
their walk to Emmaus, after the rosurreotion, 
when their hearts burned within them, as he 
talked to them by tho way. The postures and 
drapery of the three figures are very fine, the 
atmosphere oriental, the heads noblo and ex- 
pressive ; and, what stamps the design with 
beautiful meaning, there is a most impressive 
contrast between the lively, quick, ana intent 
air of the disciples, and the serene abstraction 
of Jesus. This sketch would mako either an 
interesting cabinet or an effective church pic- 
turo. There is a Flemish vein in Weir, and 
he has remarkable tact in managing still-life. 
" An old philosopher showing the mioroscope 
to two boys" was the subjeot of a painting on 
his easel, whioh evinced Disability in this way 
delightfully. 

One of the most interesting incidents in 
Weir's career at homo, was his painting the 
venerable ohief of the Senecas. A profession- 
al gentleman, (Dr. J. W. Francis, of New- 
York,) whose patriotic sympathies are ever 
alive to the interests of literature and art, had 
been much attraoted by the expressive visage 
and the extraordinary cranium that rendered 
the person of Red Jaoket so eloquent of his 
history ; and felt, both us a philosopher and 



1852 

an American, how desirable it was to perpetu- 
ate the lineaments of the old forest king. Ac- 
cordingly, he ingratiated himself by occasion- 
al gifts of tobacco, and when the chiefs friend- 
ship was obtained, induced him to sit to Weir 
for his portrait. Special models of greater 
utility are doubtless obtainable at Romo and 
Florence— a broader chest for a Hercules, a 
more graceful oontour for an Antinous, and u 
more venerable head for a Saint Potor; but 
no foroign academy could furnish such a noble 
physique, associated with circumstances und 
qualities of such peculiar interest. Tho last 
of the Senecas, with characteristic yet brave 
egotism, when praised for his deeds of blood, ex- 
claimed—" A warrior ! I was born an orator !" 
When denounced in early life by a prophet, 
ho came forward at a great Indian counoil, 
and by his powerful eloquence, in a speech of 
three hours, turned the tido of popular feel- 
ing, and triumphed over his enemies. He 
drew tears from his audience on every occa- 
sion whon he depicted the wrongs of his race, 
and was elected, from the moro influence of 
his natural gifts, chief of his tribe — for, ac- 
cording to our poet, (Hallcck,) whoso vivid 
numbers will preservo his mental, as our 
painter has his bodily features, ho possessed 

11 The monarch mind — the mystery of commanding— 
The godlike power — the art Napoleon, 
Of winning, fettering, moulding, wielding, banding 
The hearts of millions, till they more like one." 

Ho determined to resist civilization, in order 
to maintain tho shadow of power and indi- 
viduality that his nation oould still boost. It 
was a vain though an horoio attempt. By 
jealously ^opposing the trading, missionary, 
and even friendly association of the whites, 
by advocating the rites and glory of his peo- 
ple, and koeping fresh in their memories the 
natural distinctions of the Indian, he trusted 
to postpone, if not avert, their impending ruin. 
Ho is supposed to have begun his caroer as a 
warrior during the revolution. General Wash- 
ington, whom the chief usod to oall " the flower 
of the forest," presented him with a silver 
medal, whioh he never oeased to wear. In 
1812 he took part in several warmly-contested 
engagements; and, after a life of political toil 
— savage though it was — vonorable from years 
and famo, tho ohampion of his waning tribe 
both in oounoil and in arms, Red Jaoket visited 
tho Atlantio oitiss, for the hut time, in 1829, 
and was tho objeot of general attention. His 
bearing was still proud, and his step firm ; ho 
wore his forest oostume, and on all publio oc- 
casions was mindful of the dignity appropriate 
to his reputation. He was then seventy years 
of age, and his death soon after occurred at 
the Seneca village, near Buffalo. His funeral 
was largely attended, and his deeds eloquent- 
ly rehearsed, by his stfrvivors, who then re- 
called with sadness his own prophotio words 
— " Who shall take my plaoe amoDg my peo- 
ple 1 " 

The sitting of Red Jaoket to Weir would 
havo afforded no slight material for the specu- 
lative observer of human nature. The savage 
monarch, whoso piercing eye behold the grad- 
ual but certain destruction of bis race, as it 
had already that of his immediate family, al- 
ways entered the artist's studio with his suite, 
dressed in all the finery of his office ; his com- 
panions, with their dark faces and unrestrain- 
ed air, threw themselves carelessly upon the 
floor, and smoked their pipes, whilo their 
leader ever and anon rose from his seat to gaze 
with admiration upon the growth of *thc por- 



1852 

trait, deigning occasionally a word of cucour- 
agement to the painter. The whole scene was 
one of those combinations of tho extremes of 
savage and civilized lifo— of the pioturesque 
and the conventional — of the refinement of 
art and tho wildness of nature, only to be en- 
countered in this country. And it was but a 
kind of poetical justice thus to snatch an abo- 
riginal exemplar from oblivion, and for bard 
and limner to join in enshrining the name of 
Red Jacket in human remembrance, as a spe- 
cimen of Indian character, one distinguishing 
trait of whioh he so remarkably exemplified — 
tho union of outward calmnetes and indiffer- 
ence of aspect with tumultuous past-ions — 

' With look, like putient Job's, naehewlax «rll : 
With motions graceful as a bird's in air, 
Thou art iu noser truth the veriest devil 

That e'er clenched Sogers iu a captire'e hair 

A in I underneath that face, like Hummer ocean's, 
Its lip as morfllcss and Its cheek us clear. 

Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions— 
Lot*, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow — all tax fear " 

Home Journal , N,Y. , 1-17-52 



EDITORIAL MEMORANDA 

Or NEW IDEAS Ai TUET PASS, AND NEW ViCTI 
AND DOINGS AI TOUT HEARD OF. 



The first thunder of spring has been 

beard at Bridgeport. It would be hard to 
get the start of any plaoe where Barnum 
lives. 

It is hardly fair to give anything ol 

Emerson's from a nowspapcr report. Even 
the reporter expresses his regret at tho neces- 
sary imporfectness of his rendering. But 
here and there a thought, new and true, 
seems to havo dropped whole, through tho 
mealy mill of stenography, and we give one 
or two kernels that seem unground Emerson. 
The lcoture was upon power : 

"Tho faculties of a roan sro indefinite ; who 
shall limit his influence ? Some men carry wholo 
nations with them, and lead the life of the diy 
and of tho hour. Life is a search after power, 
which lies in it everywhere. Every noble mind 
is a seeker, and is satisfied, if out of the mystory 
of experience he can compel power. All great 
men believe that things go by law and not by 
luck." * * * Thero is bnt one secret of all 
ages, and that is irohcoility ; in most men. at all 
times, and in great men sometimes The old 
doctors decreed courago to be physical; a certain 
healthy state of tho system given, and valour and 
success followed. • • • Our troubles about 
American politics aro needless The half orator, 
half apgBKsin, comes from somo Wisconsin and 
Utah, and we dread tho end of things. Dut the 
storks <lo not decline Like a thrifty tree grow- 
ing spite of the lioe, ice, mioo, and borers, so wo 
do not suffer from the profligates who batton 
upon tho treasury. Tho necessities of the case 
will teach majesty of manners, fast enough 
This power is not amiable ; but it brings its own 
antidote. All power develops together, up ond 
down, hither and thither. The " Bruisers" — 
men who have roughly ridden over. and through 
things — have their peculiar vices, but their vir- 
tues also; and, Bince politics aro growing mean, 
when the question is botween civility and force 
I ahull not hesitate As in politics so iu trade, 
this power has a strain of ferocity. * * * It 
was a proverb in tho world of statements that 
the evils of popular government appeared greater 
than they were. A rough population had its ad- 
vantages. * * " There were many who were 
living in infamy at homo, who, if sent into Mexi- 



69 

co, might cover themselves with glory. • • • 
The crisis of history is when the savago is ceas- 
ing to be a savage. The great triumphs of peace 
are when the habit of war is yet fresh. • • • 
The latter part of the leoture was devoted to an 
examination of the two means by which we may 
accommodato ourselves to this force. The first 
of these is concentration. Have done with friends, 
flatteries, books, pleasures, come to the one point 
— what you can do, however imperfectly, and 
stick to it. The scattering shot hits no mark. 
Necessity, said Campbell the poet, notin?pirolion, 
makes me sing. • • • Our politics were full 
of bad hands, and men of refinement were not fit 
persons to send to Congress. Politics was re- 
garded as a bad profession, and was fatal to per- 
ception and character, sinco it had been said that 
men in power had no opinions. Why, then, if it 
were only a question as between the most oivil 
and the most forcible, he went for tho latter; 
they had a hold though Satanic cobI. • • • 
Many men did not rush to a decision when a 
decision was wanted. Presence of mind was a 
valuable faculty. A good judge was not one 
who split hairs, but ono who rendered substan- 
tial justice according to tho rules of testimony, 
lie then alluded to tho great advantages which 
resulted from an exercise of tho facilities The 
hack was a better roadster than the Arabian 
steed. All orators were bad ones at first, but by 
practice they became consummate ones." 

Ibid . . 2-21-52, p. 2. 



THE "NEWSPAPER ANTIDOTE" 



Mr. Emerson bad the announcing of an 
era, when he was tbo first to say that " Leo- 
tares were to be tho antidote to tho newspa- 
per." How the gentlemen Small Pox of tho 
Proas will relish this sotting up of Lecturers as 
the Kine-pook-raoy of the country, wo shall 
look with some interest to see ; but the oura- 
ftive i tf elf, thus audaciously announced, is too 
important a topio to pass over, and we may 
perhaps Bay an instructive word or two, as to 
how so long latent a principle has been brought 
UDcxpeotedly to bear. 

The vaccination of the Press has been a 
subject of experiment ; but, like the Provi- 
dence that cent a oure for tho greatest scourge 
of mankind, not through the patient alembics 
of science, but by tho chanco-fingored udders 
of a diseased cow, it was left to indirect 
means to achieve it. That the newspaper, 
which is the only universal medium to the 
popular mind, should not be laden with a 
principle of moral health, from the oountry's 
purest and best intellect, has seemed, we dare 
say, not only lamentable but unaccountable, 
to those who have merely observed and rea- 
soned upon it. They have wondered why 
Emerson and Henry James, Dowoy and Giles, 
Whipple and Wendell Holmes, were not Edi- 
tors. Instead of delivering six lectures a year, 
to au lienoes of four or five hundred, why were 
not suoh intellects pouring out their treasures, 
daily, each ono, to fifty thousand readers '! 
Why was the elephant harnessed to the go- 
oart and the mouso to the load of hay 1 

" In the way of business," like other Edi- 
tors, we havo often turnod over the possibility 
of enlisting this first quality of mind for tho 
Press. A charming book makes tho subscrip- 



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1852 

lecture" — inserted by tho reporter's quill, and 
(irrelevant, but professionally interesting) 
nothing to pay for the virus ! For their vao- 
oination of the daily papers tho Kine- pock-racy 
make no chargo to tho patient ! 

Tho pride and the purse of the Lecturer are 
both enlisted, of course, in keeping him at 
home till he has such ideas as will draw an 
audience, and the Llcture-room thus works, 
unexpectedly, as the intellectual sieve long 
wanted for pulpits and periodicals. His pride, 
also, forces him to wait till he has ideas that 
will not buffer by the stripping of their ver- 
biage — (tmoh as they get by newspaper re- 
porting,) and the report atones for its freedom 
by being a trumpet of celobrity, no leotures 
being thus roughly honoured except for their 
foroe and novelty. 

And this brings us to the wonderful part of 
the whole matter— the willingness of the news- 
papers to be inoculated with their own " anti- 
dote ."' As original contributions or editorials, 
these reports of leotures would " never do." 
Tho conservative views of Dewoy, the probing 
truths of Emorson, tho magniucontly bold uq- 
popularisms of Henry Jaruos — tho newspapers 
that report them would as soon burn up their 
subscription books as advance suoh opinions 
on their own responsibility. Duly published 
they are, however, unqualified and uncontra- 
dicted ; and so, by the very circulation of the 
disease itself, tho healing principle is carried 
to the extremities of the land. Tho Leoture- 
room U the moral Jennerof our time— though, 
unlike the vacciuo virus, tho virtue of its " an- 
tidote," springs from the higher perfection, 
not from thodiboaso, of the animal from whom 
it is taken. 

We have but taken up the end of u thread 
that leads to a great deal of speculation. In 
the reader's hand we must leave it, for the 
present. 

THE COOPER TESTIMONIAL. 



The Metropolitan Hall, on the evening of 
Wednesday, the 25th of February, contained 
most of whatever is beautiful, worthy and dis- 
tinguished in New- York. The meeting had a 
three-fold attraction : regard for the memory 
of Cooper attracted many ; " Daniel Wobster 
will preside" was tho temptation to others ; 
and thousands more were moved by the de- 
sire to hear how well one " man of genius 
oonld praise another." The Hall was com- 
fortably, though not orushingly, filled. There 
were psople standing ; but there were seats 
vacant. 

Till nearly eight o'clock the stage presented 
only an array of empty chairs and sofas, with 
a marble oentre-table in front, raised high on 
a box, to aooommodate the vision of Mr. Bry- 
ant, which has not so long a range as when it 
glanoed over tie wot manuscript of Thnna- 
topsis. Tho audience was becoming impa- 
tient, and low thunders of subdued stamping 
rolled around the house, when the doors at the 



70 
baok of tho stage were flung open. In a mo- 
ment, and only for a moment, there was 
breathless silence. Mr. Irving entered, but 
was soarcely reoognised by the audience, be- 
fore tho imposing form of Daniel Webetcr 
slowly emergod into view. As he appeared, 
and walked in his loisurely manner to the 
front, the audienoe rose and greeted him with 
round after round of applause which was lite- 
rally deafening. A crowd of gentlemen fol- 
lowed him, and the stage was darkened with 
the elite of twenty-five millions. Mr. Web- 
ster took no notioe whatover of the applause, 
which oontinued for a minute or more, with a 



1852 

after he left it. 

Mr. Webster rose, and was again received 
with long and vociferous applause. Certain- 
ly, Demosthenes would have smiled, had he 
heard the address that followed, and learned 
that its deliverer is styled by his oountrymen 
an Orator. Great men are never great ora- 
tors. Anything more unoratorical than Mr. 
Webster's mode of speaking cannot be ima- 
gined. His manner was precisely that of a 
farmer who had been summoned from the 
plough to the forum. He said " moniment," 
for monument, and "literetoor," for literaturo 
He jerks out a short sentence in a high, rather 



vehemenoe regardless of gloves, until it took .nasal tone, and then lets his voice fall and die 



the form of " three cheers for Daniel Web- 
ster," when he performed one of his magnifi- 
cent bows. Whon silenoe and order were re- 
stored, a spectaole was presented unequalled 
in New- York since it became & oity. 

The stage wns oocupied by about forty gen- 



away into a long, low rumble, inaudible ut- 
terly to a large number of tantalized in-audi- 
tors. But the matter is solid, safe and well 
considered. He quotes frequently and most 
aptly. He never (wo hear) read a novel of 
Cooper's in his life ; yet he said what was 



tlemen, nearly every ono of whom is known proper for the oooasion and becoming to him- 

and valued throughout Christendom. On a self. Ho dwelt strongly upon the indepen- 

sofa in the midst eat Mr. Webster, the chair- denoe, the integrity, the piety, and especially 

man of the mooting, and Washington Irving, the nationality of the departed novelist His 

the prosident of tho society for the erection of address was listened to with breathless atten- 

the Cooper monument. Mr. Webster wore, tion, and the mighty presence of the man held 

u usual, his capacious blue ooat with braes spell-bound tho distant thousand or so who 

buttons. A white satin waistooat oovered his oould not hear. 

broad oheet, and formed a satin belt below his Mr. Bryant's address has been universally 

buttoned ooat. Blaok trousers, glazed-leather read. The Poet showed himself to be no more 

shoos, whito kid gloves and a light neokerohiof «"> O"tor than tho Statesman who preceded 

completed hia attiro. He looked, with his bim - Hia vooal or gai8 we weak, and his 

commanding form, his grand oountonance, and throat required frequent wetting from the 

the perfeot repose of both, like Jupitor among tumbler of Croton at his side. There was 



the gods. Mr. Irving was dressed in dark 
olotb.es, aud looked remarkably well. In his 
fcixty-sevontu year, he would pass, by gaslight, 
for forty-five He has neither grown portly nor 
spare with age. His oountonance has the red 
and rugged look of the country gentleman, and 
he looks as vigorous and as likely to live thirty 
years longor as he did twenty years ago. Mr. 
Banoroft sat next to the author of the Sketch 
Book. The historian is a tall, slenderish gen- 
tleman, with hair and beard, like Hamlet's 
father's, " grizzled." He stoops slightly ; 



something of sing-song in his tone. He read 
slowly and without excitement or muoh em- 
phasis. Weak as are his vooal powers, he 
was heard hotter by the audienoe than Mr. 
Webster, with all his latent stentorian power. 
Mr. Bryant's oue, of course, was eulogy, not 
criticism ; and eulogy, mere eulogy, is apt to 
be dull. It is simple fact, however, to state 
that the eulogist on this oooasion was not dull 
for a moment. The interest, so far from flag- 
ging, inoreased as the winged minutes flew 
by. Now and then the poet of the woods and 



moves, sits and gesticulates with that perfect winds emerged from the even ourrent of his 
awkwardness rarely attained by any but narrative, and a happy metaphor or a striking 
ploughboys, poets and litlirateurs. Mr. Bry- eimile— in the language of the theatre- 
ant, too, who sat on the right of the chairman, " brought down the house." It was pleasing 
is among the elders of the city. His fine fore- to notioe, through the evening, how instanta- 
hoad is enoircled with gray locks. He is tall, neously and warmly tho audienoe responded 
slender, and as straight as an arrow. Ranged to" a good thing." One incident of Mr. 
along the stage, in a double, eemioiroular row, Bryant's speech is worth recording. In allud- 
were other magnates in the republio of letters, ing to the 'contemporaries of Cooper, he made 

For several minutes the spectators were en- pointed mention of the appearanoe of the 
gaged in pointing out to one another, with Sketch Book. At once, by a universal ini- 
eager interest, the men whom all had heard pulse, every hand in tho vast assembly sought 
of, but few had seen before. its fellow, and a storm of applause brokoover 

Mr. Irving was the first speaker. He doubt- the head of its author that must havo stunned 
less spoke to the purpose, but the voioe of the as much as delighted him. Peal after peal 
man, whose pen had reached to tho antipodes, followed. Geoffrey Crayon made a praise- 
was inaudible to that half of the audionoe worthy effort to look unconcerned, but a smile 
among whom we were sitting. He was evi- at length stolo over his countenance, which 
denUy " unaccustomed to publio speaking," was tho only (and sufficient) visible aoknow- 
and resumed his seat in about two minutes lodgment whioh ho vouchsafed of the pleasuro 



1852 

he must havo inwardly enjoyed. This wa» 
one of tho most delightful eventa of anevoning 
whioh was all delight. Mr. Bryant's next 
sentence oontained a modest reference to the 
publication of his own first volume — when the 
scene just described was encored with enthu- 
siasm. 

It was ten o'clook whon Mr. Bryant sat 
down, but the nppetito of the audience was by 
no means appoascd. Mr. Bancroft, who had 
appeared keenly to enjoy the prooeding ad- 
dress, and had joined in, and frequently led, 
the applause which it had elicited, now rose. 
He spoke in a high key, and without the ele- 
gance whioh never is wanting to him when he 
"takes pon in hand." He gesticulates with 
as much graoe. as if bis arms were dislooated 
— and no moro. Ho spoke, however, to the 
purpose, and was warmly applauded. In the 
oourse of hU 'speech ho paid a magnificent 
compliment to Mr. Webster, and when he was 
about to resume his scat, the Secretary of 
Stato acknowledged tho honour by rising and 
giving him a prolonged shake of the hand. 

The eleotric speech of tho evening was that 
of Mr. Osgood, the pastor of tho Unitarian 
Churoh of the Mefsiah, in Broadway. Mr. 
Osgood is youthful in appearance, under the 
average height, and no way commanding in 
prcsonoe. Ho was attired in the clerioal 
uniform of wbito cravat. Somewhat stag- 
gered with the extraordinary character of his 
audience, he had tho art to turn his very em- 
barrassment to exccllont acoount. Ho won- 
dored, he said, to find himself whero^o was 
Ho had no right there. Funeral honours 
were paid, to-night, to a great historical oba- 
raotor, by men, whose names and deeds were 
themselves historical. To their high dignity, 
he could lay no claim. He expressed in few, 
bat heart-stirring words, his gratitude to men 
of genius, by whose labours tho rugged path 
of life is choorcd, adorned, and blessed. The 
poems and romances which they write have 
their effect in produoing that grandest of all 
romances, a noble life ! Mr. Osgood ppokc 
for soaroely five minutes, but spoke so simply, 
and so beautifully as to rouse the audience to 
a high pitch of enthusiasm. He sit down 
amid thunders of applause. 

Dr. Bethane alluded, in foroible terms, to 
the shameful foot, that New- York is the only 
great metropolis on earth which is destitute of 
public statues. Ho hoped that this meeting 
was but the first of an endless series of simi- 
lar ones, and that, as the great men around 
him, ono by ono, passed away, their services 
would be commemorated in monuments which 
would adorn the city, and inspire its oitixens 
to a generous emulation of their deeds. 

It was a happy thought in the chairman to 
invito Mr. G. P. R. James, the English novel- 
ist, to take part in the excroiscs. Mr. James 
is a remarkably vigorous-looking person, slight- 
ly andor the ordinary stature, well-formed, 
of ruddy countenance, which a light mus- 
taoho well becomes. He may be fifty years of 



71 
age, or thereabouts. Mr. James spoko in 
the English manner — briefly and pointedly. 
If he had been announced as Mr. G. P. R. 
James, instead of, simply, Mr. James, he would 
have been at once reoognited as tho celebrated 
author. But he and hid initials are so insepa- 
rably associated in the publio mind, that it 
was not generally known at first w/w wns 
speaking. In pronouncing the present parti- 
ciple, Mr. James has a curious habit of omit- 
ting tho final g — ' Bein a romance writer," 
etc., etc 

Dr. Francis, who is a superb specimen of 
the fine old Amerioan gentleman, followed in 
a glorious little speech, full of patriotism for 
New- York and affeotion for the memory of 
his deceased friend. 

After a short, but admirable address, from 
Mr. Wobstor, the meeting, at eleven o'clock, 
broke up. Our hasty description oonveys a 
most inadequade idea of the absorbing inter- 
est and sustained delight of this unique occa- 
sion. No one who was present, we venture to 
say, will ever forget the Cooper Testimonial 
at the Metropolitan Hall. 

Ibid . . 3-6-52, p. 2. 



1852 



THE " UNDERSEA TELEGRAPH." 

Over, under, lands or seas, 

To the far antipodes. 

Now o'er oities thronged with men, 

Forest now or lonely glen. 

Now where busy Commerce broods, 

Now in wildest solitudes. 

Now where Christian temples stand, 

Now afar in Pagan land. 

Here again as soon as gone, 

Making all the earth as one. 

Moscow speaks at twelve o'olook, 

London reads ere noon the shook : — 

Seems it not a feat sublime, * 

Intellect hath conquered Time! 



CO 

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The first thousand of Emerson and 

Channing's u Life of Margaret Fuller" was 
sold in twenty-four hours. 

Ibid .. 3-13-52, p. 3. 



Mr. Browntou'i Lecture. 

— — One of the hottest audiences of the 
seaspn assembled in tho Tabernaole one even- 
ing last week, to hear Mr. Brownson prove 
that Protestantism is incompatible with liber- 
ty. It was labour in vain : first, because nine 
tenths of tho audience were evidently con- 
vinced of his proposition before he began to 
speak, and, secondly, bocause the leoturo was 
so weak a performance, that the only word 

whioh fitly characterizes it, is the adjective 

SILLY. 

Mr. Brownson enjoys the reputation of a 
man who has spent the greater part of hit 
life in earnest inquiry after truth. In th» 
course of his search, he has gone the round of 
the sects. For twenty years he was a Pro- 
testant minister. His present religion is the 




Ibid . , 6-26-52, p. 2. 



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1852 

teatants to inquire and to seek, and wiry? 
People do not seek for what they have, but 
for what they have not , and Protestants, of 
courno, should be ever seeking for the troth, 
because they have not yet found it ! The 
Catholio ohuroh, on the oontrary, is never 
guilty of the absurdity of calling upon her 
children to inquire for the truth, because they 
already have it." Rapturous applause ! The 
air of innooent self-satisfaotion which over- 
spread the countenance of Mr. Brownson, af- 
ter ho had aobieved this brilliant stroke, was 
oomioal. 

Towards the close of his leoture, Mr. Brown- 
son remarked upon the unhappy condition of 
the Protestant minister, "The poor man," 
f aid he, " has no authority. Ho depends on 
the people. He does not speak down to them 
from above, but up to them from below. He 
must consult their prejudices. He must pan- 
der to their wishes. He receives from them 
his commission ; from them he gets his dis- 
charge. If he offends their tastes or feelingp, 
it is all over with him, and he must pull op 
his stakes, with his wife and children, and 
throw himself on the meroyof a cold world." 
To this the lecturer added, " I was a Protes- 
tant minister mjielf for twenty years, and I 
know all about it." We fear there was too 
much truth in this part of Mr. Brownson's 
discourse. 

We siooerely deplore these religious dis- 
putes. They originated in other times and 
other lands; to other times and other lands 
they belong. No good can oome of them, and 
moch evil may come. They tend to deepon 
sectarian animosities, whioh, in a country 
like ours, where every eeoi has an equal 
ohanoe to prapogate itself, are quite irra- 
tional and inexcusable. We trust no clergy- 
man of the Protestant persuasion will be 
tempted to a rejoinder. 



A CONVENTION 

l he held at WORCESTER, Mam., on thi WOT 
•4 Mth of October next, (agreeably to the appoint- 
ment of a preliminary meeting held at Boston, on the 
•Oth of May last,) to oontider the question of Wo- 
■ax's Right*. Dirrua and Relations ; and the Men 
and Women of our country, who feel sufficient inter- 
est in the great subject to give an earnest thought and 
eCsetive effort to its rightful adjustment, are invited 
to meet each other in free conference, at the time and 
»Uoe appointed. 

The signs are encouraging ; the time is opportune. 
Come, then, to this Convention. It is your duty, if 
you are worthy of your age and country. Give the 
help of your best thought to scpsrate the light from 
the darkness. Wi»ely give the protection of your 
name and the benefit of your effort* to the great work 
of settling the principles, devising the method, and 
achieving the success of this high and holy movement. 

Of the many points now under discussion and de- 
manding a just settlement, the general question of 
Wosasn's Rights and Relations comprehends such as : 
Her Education, Luermry^ Scientific, and Artiuic , — 
Her A vocations, Industrial, Commercial, and Profei- 



72 



Ralph Waldo Emorsou, it is said, is 

sometimes struck with an idea in the middle of 
the night, and immediately rises and records it. 
Whereupon suoh a colloquy as the following 
takes place: — Mr*. E. — " Aro you unwell, my 
dear ?" Mr. E .— " No. love, only an idea " 

Home Journal . N.Y., 11-27-52, page 3. 



1852 



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1852 



OLD COLOiNY NURSERIES. 
rplIE ftihxvrilier offer* lor sale, nl Hie Old Colony Nurse- 

Dwarl and Standard Fruit Trees, of the bcsl sorts. 
Fruit Slocks of all kinds, lor imr.-ery men mid n male urn. 
Pear Seeds, Currants, (;oi»eberne*, Kasphernen, Rhu- 
barb mid A*|>nra^u-< Rooty, of many line varunus. 

Slruwl.erries in Ml varieties, including many American &c 
Foreign varieties, now lir>t ollt-red. 
Foreign Uraiies in 110K for v lurries. 

NrrdhamV New wlnie liiglibiisli Blackberry. Cultiva- 
ted Hi;,'liuii.«h ■McklicrrioM, beurini: Iruil ol enormous size. 
Ornamental Trees und Slimlm, Kverjjreens, Climbers, Vc 
one of the best assortments in Hie country 

Kose», in several hundred varieties, nn'ludinp tin- best 
/mine, lioiirsavel. Ayrsberc, Hybrid /'erpetiinl Moss, Teu, 
China, Noisette and lioiirbon varieties. 

For the Creen House or W ndow Culture — .TO varieties 
ol Verbena. fjO do Ol I'm lisia, 10 do nf Heliotrope, 40 do. of 
new dwarf daisy flowered Chrysanthemum. Ko«e«, Heaths, 
Comellut- Azaleas, Salvia-. Cnnianus, Violets. 7'inks, Are 

Japan Lilies. (iladi<-las, Herbaceous and Tree .Peonies, 
Phloxes. In«, llerbaeeous Plants in treat variety 

. A priced descriptive Catalogue will be -cut gratis on ap- 
plication U. M. WATSON. 
Plymouth, Ocl.Q3.lVfi. ','7 



Portrait of Washington. 

We acknowledge, with thanks, the 

receipt of a copy of that admirable work of 
art, Weloh'e Engraving of Stuart's Washing- 
ton. Besides praising it ourselves, we will let 
our readers hear tho opinions of others upon 
its merits. Ralph Waldo Emerson beautiful- 
ly says: " I have kept the print in full view 
of my own and all neighbouring eyes, since 
its arrival, and to the great contentment of 
all. Tho engraving appears to me admirably 
executed, and the faoe is equal to its fame. It 
has the serenity, strength, and, I must add, 
delicacy, which we seek for in the head of 
Washington, but whioh we hardly dare expect 
to find. Here the expression is right, the eye 
rests securely on it, and all the high traits 
oome out in turn. We mnst thank the art, or 
the combined arts, which have given us« por- 
trait whioh it is a pleasure and an honour to 
see, and the possession of whioh is a continu- 
ing benefit whioh one cannot overprize." 
Chief J ustioe Taney remarks : " It was my good 
fortune to have soen Washington in the days 
of my boyhood, and his whole appearanoe is 
yet strongly impressed on my memory. Tho 
portrait you have issued appears to me to be 
an exaot likeness, representing perfeotly the 
expression as well as the form and features of 
his faoe." Daniel Webster said : " I consider 
it a very good likeness, and shall have ithand- 
somoly framed and hung up in my parlour." 
Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd writes to the" pub- 
lisher : " Having been absent from home, I 
have only justj received tho magnificent print 
of the great founder of American Indepen- 
dence, whioh you have honoured me by send- 
ing for my acceptance. As a work of art, it 
is admirable ,- as a vivid representation of one 
of ' the noblest men who ever livod in the tide 
of times, 1 it possesses an undying interest of 
the deepest kind. I rejoice to know that art 
has already made such progress in the ooun- 
try of Washington as is signalized by this rep- 
resentation of his lineaments, whioh it has 
thus resoucd from the grave for the admira- 
tion of both branches of tho Anglo-Saxon 



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1852 




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1852 

indeocnt manner ! Mrs. Smith will probably 
leotare, this winter, in various oities and 
towns, and wo advise our readers to embrace 
any opportunity of hearing her whioh may 
offer. 

— An audienoe of seven or eight hundred 
assembled on Friday evening of last week, to 
hear the leoture from Professor Agassiz, on 
the " Gradations of Animals," that leoture 
being the seoond of the " Tabernaole Course. ' 
It seemed to us that both the subject and the 
manner of this discourse wero ill-judged. It 
was too much of a subjoot for a single lec- 
ture. For a course of thirty leotures, it would 
have been appropriate enough, though even in 
that oase it may be doubted whether the same 
knowledge cannot be obtained more easily and 
more thoroughly from a well-digested treatise 
than from a course of leotures. The learned 
professor Bet about his task in a very direot 
and professor-like manner. With his chalk in 
his hand, and a blackboard by his side, he 
proceeded to give a catalogue — and little more 
than a catalogue— of the various orders in the 
animate world, in very muoh the style of his 
oollege leotures at Cambridge. Soma gentle- 
men found it dull, and left ; but the majority 
of the audience listened with praiseworthy 
attention to the end. Professor Agassiz has a 
pale, broad countenanoe, with a forehead 
well-rounded and fully developed, up to the 
point where the dome of reverenoe ought to 
rise, where there is a marked depression. In 
person he is little under the average height, 
stoutish, and slightly stooping. That half of 
his head whioh is presented to an audience is 
bald ; but behind, his hair still clusters thiok 
and dark. From top to toe, he was dressed in 
professional blaok — his shirt collar hanging 
over his blaok stook, as it pleased heaven. Ho 
has the look of a student who is quite absorbed 
in his chosen eubjeota, and totally regardless 
of appearances. He speaks with a slighter 
foreign aocent than one would expect, and 
though he frequently hesitates for a word, 
and often lapses into a foreign idiom, yet he 
ii perfeotly understood at all times. 

FOE TBI HOHI JODRSUL 

THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 



Many have read the story of ^tho spectre- 
bridegroom, and admired the humorous ima- 
gination whioh could narrate in so pleasing a 
manner such an amusing history. While it 
takes from the wonder of tho reader, it per- 
haps will add a little to tho interest felt in the 
story, to learn that it was " founded on fact," 
and really happened in tho silly court days of 
Louis XV., of France. 

Bcsenval, a courtier in the latter part of the 
reign of this weak monaroh, and his good- 
natured but unfortunate successor, relates the 
story in this wise. 

M . de St. Andre, an employe of the govern- 
ment, who afterwards roe to the rank of 
lieutenant-general, on ono occasion took pas- 
sage in ono of the publio conveyances Irom 
Strasburg for Paris. On the way thither he 



74 

made the acquaintance of a young man, whose 
name I have forgotten, who was travelling the 
same road. "1 reoollect this M. St. Andre,' 
says Besenval. " Ho was a tall man, of fine 
appearanco, with an austere manner, never 
relaxing into a laugh : this demeanour gave a 
particular zest to an extravagant fondness for 
fun, in whioh he continually indulged." 

Finding himself in oompany with this young 
man, they soon beoame intimate friends, and 
were mutually informed of all tho family af- 
fairs of each other, M. de St. Andre learned 
from his new friend that he was then* on his 
way to marry a rich heiress, tho only daughter 
of an especial friend of his father's. The lees 
young people agree upon objeots of minor im- 
portance, the more they are likely to dwell 
upon suoh matters as interest them seriously. 
M. de St. Andre thus becamo intimately ac- 
quainted with all that concerned the family of 
his new friend, and of that of his intended. 
This young man, being full of one thought, 
talked continually about it, and omitted none 
of the details in relation to it, as well past as 
future. 

With this sort of conversation the young 
friends journeyed on together to Porie. On 
their arrival there, they went to look for 
lodgings at the Hotel d'Anglnterre, in the rue 
Riohelieu. They had scarcely taken rooms 
thoro bofore M. de St. Andr6's friend was 
seized with an attack of cholera, whioh, in 
spite of all care and attention, brought him to 
tho grave in loss than two hours' time. 

Deeply distressed at tho sad fate of his young 
oompanion, M. de St. Andre turned his atten- 
tion at once to the duties devolving upon him 
in consequenoo. Knowing that the young 
man was anxiously lookod for at his father-in- 
law's residence, ho took possession of all papers 
found in the pockots and portfolio of the de- 
ceased, and direotod his steps thither, with the 
intention of delivering these papers and ad- 
vising them of the molanoholy disaster. 

So far, all went very well, and the right 
order of events would not have been inter- 
rupted had it not been for a ciroumstanoe 
which caused M. de St. Andre to forego his 
good resolutions. On roaohing the bouse of 
the intended father-in-law, the servants, who 
were instructed to expect tho arrival of the 
bridegroom, on seeing this young man, took it 
for granted that he was the person expeoted. 
They accordingly announced him as such to 
tho master of the house, who ran to moot him, 
welcomed him with a cordial embrace, and, 
without giving him time to speak, took him to 
his wife's room, and presented him os her son- 
in law, and to his daughter as her future hus- 
band. 

M. de St. Andre could not robist the idea of 
passing himself off for the person he was sup- 
posed to bo, and played his part accordingly 
to perfection, He handed the letters with 
whioh he was provided to the father and 
mother, and, being fully prepared, answered 
fully all the questions they addressed to him. 
He succeeded especially well with the young 
damsel herself, who, at a glanoe, was struck 
with his fine person and address. Dinner was 
announced. M. de St. Andre was placed next 
to his bride ; the parties gave themselves up 
to a full enjoyment of the happy ovent. The 
young lady was reserved, spoke littlo, soaroely 
answered a word, and blushed continually. 
M. de St. Andre was attentive and devoted to 
her, as well as to her parents, maintaining a 
very composed demeanour, and yet gay and 
lively in his conversation. 



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1852 

the Hotel d'Auglcterre to inquire after his 
sou-in-law. The servant charged with the 
message having uekod for him under his truo 
name, the people at the hotel told biui that 
the gentleman arrived at nine o'clock in the 
morning, died at eleven, and was to h>i buriod 
at six in tbo evening. It would bo difficult to 
dosoribe tho consternation oausod by this 
reply, when it was told to tbo lathor-io-law 
and his wife and daughter. 

Here the story ends, and does not inform us 
whether the family made any further in- 
quiries, nor in what they resulted, nor is it of 
any importanoo to the reader. 

The story, however, says Beeeuval, has a 
moral. If, at tho present day— that Is to say, 
in his own time — a young man were to com- 
mit suoh an act, he would lose his reputation 
forever; although in thoso days society, es- 
sentially oorrupt, wore a rigid mask of hypo- 
crisy and of high respect for prejudices, whioh 
only tended to dissimulato vioe, and oonceal 
crime and extravagance. But in the reign of 
Louis XV. the adventure was regarded aa 
very amusing, and the whole world considered 
it a very good joke. 

Home Journal , N.Y., 11-6-52. 



The fol- 
lowing is from a letter in the Boston Pott -.— 
" A friend of mine had lately tho honour of 
being introduced to Alfred Twnyion, and 
describes him as all that his writings would 
lead us to expect. It may please you to know 
that the laureate is an admiror of Amorican 
literature, and deeply read therein ; with Edgar 
Poe he is more especially familiar, and when he 
learned that my friend was about to visit tho 
United States, he gave him an unlimited order 
to buy up whatever books of interest he might 
stumblo on in his travols. Gnxct Green- 
wood says :— " Bayard Taylor, tho noble young 
poet-traveller, is now in London, but is soon 
to leave for a tour in Spain, and a visit to 
India and China. He is in fine health and spi- 
rits since his return from tho Orient ; seems to 
have renewed his life from the rich primoval 
fountains. He goes to ' put a girdlo round the 
world,' hoping to clasp it in his native land some 
time next year God. grant he may ' must pray 
fervently all who know, iind knowing, prize his 
warm, manly heart, and high adventurous sni- 

rit "~~ Ibid .. 12-4-52, p. 3. 
PERSONAL. 



Nathaniel Hawthorne receive! from 
Messrs. Chapman and Hall a thousand dollars 
for his " Blithedale Romance," which wss pub- 
lished in London before its appearance in Ame- 
rica. Coventry Patmore is the euphonious 

name of the gentleman who wrote that article 
upon American poetry in the " North British Re- 
view," by which, the critic says, " the poetical 
critioism of the Union hat been stirred to its 
depths."— IMd > t x.8-53, p. 3 

[Correspondence of the Journal.) 
LETTER FROM SAINT LOUIS. 

RALTH WALDO EMEHSON. 

Sunt Lovu, Jan. 6, 1853. 
Ma. Suatrn:— Few men are ever correct In their con- 
ception of a man, formed in reading his books. A 



75 

strong predilection for a man may be changed to utter 
alienation by hJB manners, while a strong prejudice 
imbibed from the page* of his book is corrected by the 
genial character of the man, In the unaflected hoars of 
social convene. The grave, lombre, gloomy looking 
countenance peering out upon you from every leaf, Is 
not the one you see at the dinner table — and ho who 
seems so ethereal and spiritualized in his essay, can tell 
you the precipe difference between a New York and a 
Boston oyster, and seizes a turkey drum-stick with mor- 
tal fingers, eating it with a most sensual relish like oth- 
er men, who were lost amid the clouds of his transcen- 
dentalism. A short man becomes tall, one with lean 
and hungry look is fat and rubicund as the monk of 
Copmanhurst. But the most remarkable transforma- 
tions are sometime* witnessed in literary men, whoa* 
books create high expectations of entertaining powers 
of converse, but who are most sterile in the social cir- 
cle; or from whom one hardly expects anything but 
monosyllables, no common sympathies, no Interest In 
anything hut their own strange and isolated world, out 
of t\ hlch they speak to us, bnt finds them overflowing 
like a spring stream, at home in common and uncom- 
mon paths, and putting at his ease in their society the 
msn of books and the man of leather. 

Horace Bushnell, of Hartford, is one of those men 
whom I expected to see with a dark, lowering face, re- 
served, unsocial, dweiling in an obscure atmosphere of 
trinities and unities, and speaking in the hieroglyphics 
of a language which he says is suited to the expression 
of his own unorthodox ideas. But he is a man like the 
common world — gallant, polished, attentive to the la- 
dies, chatty and gossippy when he pleases to be, and 
contributes largely to the tali of a miscellaneous par- 
ty. He was here six weeks since, and left the impres- 
sion of a msn whom many would like to meet again. — 
These observations are but a continuation of previous 
ones made upon Mr. Emerson, and are suggested by 
seme observations of his own, descriptive of the great 
disappointment he expu ienccd in meeting with many 
literary men in England. The tmiters were well 
ecough. But the men— the same striking peculiarities 
of humor, grace, deep or fiery thought, poetry, exquisite 
taste, ideality,— with oac or two exceptions, he did not 
find these and the man together, is it not often so? — 
The man who has held me, grasped my soul, entranced 
me by his marvellous periods, I should love to see. — 
But the hazard Is too great^fhe charm might be bro- 
ken, and I should never open his books again. The 
ideal character w 1th which we clothe men may be false. 
But it is better so, than to have all the reverence, all 
the romance dathed in a moment, by the sight of a 
very disagreeable lump of humanity. 

I did not hear Mr. Emerson's fourtl» 1cot«irc, uu Econ- 
omy. It i» however well spoken of by those who heard 
it. Ilia fifth he delivered last, night— on Fate. And 
ui.ti! thut lecture no citizen of St. Louis had seen or 
heard Emerson. He did not show himself before last 
night— Emerson the epigrammatic writer, Emerson the 
mystic, Emerson the German, Emerson the fatalist, 
Knie. ton the spiritual chemist, whose analysis disclosed 
the ldtntlty ol the elements oi good and evil. We saw 
him in all his phases. I cannot describe this lecture. 
I cannot icport it. I piesuine uo one present could 
now terrace the path along which that errrnt man led 
him. 

The lecture was a transcript of an hour of thought, 
without rigid method, logical conseeutivencss. or natu- 
ralness to any other mind but his own. It was to my 
mind destitute of unity, and the attempted tosoncllia- 
tion of fate with liberty was an undenlabio piece o f 
Emersonian mystifleation. He was queer, witty, rigor, 
ous , startled by eome fierce expression ; was grand when 
he touched upon the power of mind over fate, o* 
thought over necessity; and presented the audience 
with an exciting medley of brilliant light, filmy, neb- 
ulous, hazy Islands, illuminated fog, and black clouds. 
These nebuhe, which Mr. Emerson flings out upon the 
aky of his discourse, one gazes on with the hope that 
tbey will resolve Into (tars. They seem about to do so 
at some moments, but tbey remain floating in the 
sphere. We believe thev are stars, and when we get the 
telescope of sufficient space-penetrating power, may be 
we shall find they are. Mr. Emerson is evidently no 
believ er in sin or guilt. " Evil is only good in the 
making," as he told us— Just as Ephraim was " a eake 
not turned "'—and the rascalities of the race are the 
lower rounds of the ladder of loftiest virtue. That Mr. 
Emerson includes this in the articles of his creed he 



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1853 

Culture I have beard since commencing this letter, 
also his concluding Lecture on Worship. Ths for- 
mer I think gave greater satisfaction than any other of 
the course. Designed to follow after Fate, it developed 
the idea that Culture, training, education, triumphed 
over human limitations, and that the world was one 
Brent school of Culture, where a man soon found out 
what was rial. Some thought the Lecture conflicted 
with the previous one. though perhaps Mr. E. would 
say he was but presenting tv.-o sides of the same truth- 
Be often presents this appearance of contradiction, and 
leaves bis bearers or readers to reconcile matters If they 
can. It will not be difficult for any one to And what 
oidinary minds would pronounce irreconcilable con- 
tradictions in his writings. I should think he wrote al- 
ways, wbat he thought In some hours of reverie, re- 
gardless of what he had thought or written before. 
Logical connection he evidently does not affect 

Bis lecture on Fate gave less satisfaction than any- 
It was spiritless, without variety, and disappointed 
high expectations. Starting out with remarks on 
skepticism, and his fearlessness of the imputation of it, 
be "lumped In" all religions, from OlotTand H englst 
down, as common superstitions. Be then branched off 
upon an elaborate discussion of the point that what 
was In a man— wbat a man Is, will come out. Coming 
back upon religion again, to deprecate the religious 
training of youth— advocating the national development 
of the religious idea— asserting that religion cannot be 
grafted, but must be of the "crab" stock— making 
some admirable observations upon the value of the 
moral affections and principles above all things else — 
be closed. The impression produced was bad. The 
lecture was indefinite, shadowy and dull, and what was 
remembered were such points as I have indicated. 

These lectures were not, in the estimation of Saint 
Louis people, equal to wbat they had read from the 
same pen. Mr. E. was not popular— his audiences were 
not largo — and the Treasury of the Library Association 
had to make up a small deficiency iu receipts in order 
to pay bim the stipulated sum. 

The small audiences may be accounted fur in two or 
three ways. Prof. Mitchell occupied two nights of one 
week, which with three oecupied.-fjj Mr.. E. was too 
great a tax on our time. Then the streets were very 
muddy. But the great reason after all is, that we do 
not understand Mr. E. We are a mercantile commu- 
nity, more concerned about the "objective" than the 
"subjective," and a more mystified set, as a whole 
than most of the audience were by some of the lec^ 
hires, you never saw. Some of his thoughts remain— 
they stick. But most of his sentences are forgotten, 
remembered as a strange sound, and will brinj forth no 
fruit here. On this account I say, that Mr. E° seems to 
do nothing rral. He and his friends may smile at tins. 
He, indeed, without doubt, is indfferent to such com- 
ments as these. I never saw a man who in the desk 
appears lers regardful of common opinion— less ambi- 
tious for the fame that rewards those who please a pop- 
ular audience. Yet he cannot escape the responsibili- 
ty of a public lecturer. And that, I take it. Imposes 
the obligation to say something more than his '• own 
set '' will applaud or can understand. Common rights 
there are; and among them is the right of a popular 
audience to be addressed in their own vernacular, and 
with ideas somewhere within range of their own. If 
this obligation is violated, a lecturer might as well 
speak in on unknown tongue. He throws his words 
away. 1 am well aware of the ready answer to this— 
that the man who seems to speak in an unknown 
tongue to one generation will be understood in a future 
age; that a deeper spiritual iusigbt. a more profound 
acquaintance with the philosophy of life, will 
furnish the key to all the utterances of him who 
now speaks in advance of his age. But people seem to 
be departing more and more widely from those oracu- 
lar instructions, whose interpretation shall be taught 
by a deeper and more philosophical experience. They 
arc going off in an orbit that shall never return on 
itself, to where those nebulous lights shine I have 
had some doubts, and so have others here, about the 
sincerity cf llr. E. in any special aim. He has no sys- 
tem— or if-he has, its parts we here cannot ascertain. 
Uis thoughts In any one lecture, or in all together, do 
not cohere. And he does not falter in the utterance, 
without explanation, of the thought that flatly contra- 
dicts others. Be has no ruling ideas — none that con- 
trol him. Be Is without polarity, circles round no cen- 
tre, snd is apparently utterly Indifferent where he wan- 



76 

ders. Be is passionless about truth, rallies around his 
thoughts no affections, nodevotion.no lore— and neirer 
would prove a hero or a martyT. 

I trust you are not weary of these observations about 
Mr. E. Be js one of your community, and has boon a 
hundred times accurately measured and adjudged to bis 
fixed place by those amon; you competent to such 
work. But It may not be uninteresting to your readers 
to know the impression made upon us by a man essen- 
tially different from any we ever saw before, whom we 
would welcome again in every social circle, but who 
speaks not at all to the common consciousness of the 
mass. He is now lecturing in Springfield, capital of 
Illinois, and goes thence to Cleveland, where he lec- 
tures on the 20th inst. O" 

Boston Journal , 1-26-53 



a riALM or Lire. — a farodt. 

What las Heart of tht Young Woman said to iJU Old 

Maid 

II HENRY W. MiORTriLLOW 

Tell me not is idle jingle, 

" Marriage it an empty dream!" 

For the girl is dead that's single, 
And girls are now what they seem. 

Life it real ! life is earnest I 

8ingle blessedness a fib! 
" Man thou art, to man returnett," 

Has been spoken of the rib. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow 

Is our destined end or way , 
But to aot, that each to-morrow 

Find us nearer marriage day. 

Life is long, and youth is fleeting. 
And our hearts, though light and gay, 

Still, like pleasant drums, are beating ■"* 
Wedding marches all the way. 

PL, 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouao of life, •> 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
But a heroine — a wife ! 



Trust no future, howe'er pleasant, 
Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 

Aot — aot to the living Present ! 
Heart within and hope ahead! 

Lives of married folks remind as 
We oan live our lives ao well, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Suoh examples as shall " tell." 

Such example, that another 
Wasting time in idle sport, 

A forlorn, unmanied brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart and court. 

Let us, then, be np and doing. 
With a heart on triumph set ; 

Still contriving, stiil pursuing. 
And each one a husband get ' 



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Home Journ al, N.Y. , 4-23-53 

. During the late lecture season, 

Mr. Whipple leotured seventy-seven times: 
Dr. Holmes, seventy-six times; Emerson, sixty 
times; Th acker at, about sixty-five times. 
The leoture field has also been extensively culti- 
vated by Rev. 8amuel Osgood, Rev. Mr. Chapin, 
Park Benjamin, Q. W. Curtis, Horace Greeley, 
Professor Agassiz, Epes Sargent, Rev Mr. Pier- 
pont, Mr. Saxe, Ik Marvel and others Several 
of these gentlemen have already retired to 
summer quarters, to rest from their travels, 
and conjure up, at their leisure, fresh faots and 
fanoies, rhyme and rhetoric for the next cam- 
paign. — " 



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1853 

Soon, though conscious yet unheeding, away 

went tho world receding, 
Vanishing as I was speeding, fading, fainting, in 

tho Jar-off sky. 
Still with its immortals muttering, and their 

weakly tows a-uttering, 
Searching hope and finding trouble following 

eaoh his lavourite bubble, 

Ever, ever, till they die. 

Here, said I, is coaee of sorrow, and the day is as 
the morrow 

Hope has tinted with her colours to an ardent, 
longing eye, 

And unlettered is the awning, not a single cloud- 
let dawning, 

Quiet flakes of sunlight roaming, vein the blue 
and beauteous donning, 

Round my fanoy bark and me. 

So I swept o-drifting, drifting, lulled by song and 

by tho lifting, 
Swelling, sinking of the billows of that rare and 

dreamy bca , 
And my brain became bofitting plaoe for various 

fancies flitting, 
Who, with tangled footsteps knitting, sweet and 

loving thoughts wero knitting 

Hound my heart and memory. 

And so fairy and beguiling were those thoughts 
that earao a-smiiing — 

Peeping, blinking, laughing, winking, and look- 
ing in ray mental eye — 

That the toil thcro of linking oot and purpose 
passed my thinking, 

And if so my bark had, drinking, swallowed water 
unto sinking, 

It would ne'er boen known to me. 

For the air so gently moving, in He very motion 
soothing, 

Wafted me o'er waves and billows with a quaint 
and quiet glee. 

And its wings were incense laden, as with fra- 
grance brought from Eden, 

Which, my very senses lapping, I — perhaps I 
then was napping— 

Listless let my helm go free. 

Then— but then I cannot tell you, for I have not 

words to tell you, 
How, like a glorious sunset halo, there stretched 

along tho sky 
An emerald-tufted golden line, the edges of a 

shore sublimo, 
Where there broke in rippling rhyming, sprays 

their mellow music chiming, 

All across that dreamy sea 

80 I drifted, nearing, nearing, with a certain 

joyful fearing, 
As we feel when we are dreaming, with an open, 

trembling eye. 
And there shapes grew on my vision— shapes 

that surely were Elysian — 
For they had no earthly forming, but were snob. 

as in the morning 

Of our burning youth we see. 

When, with fairy footsteps dashing, there eame 

o'er the shore a-flashing 
Troops of beauties, suoh aa never a poor mortal 

eye did see ; 
Light and lustrous were the glanoes, from suoh 

eyes aa Muslem fancies 
Only own an Eden brightening, touohed with 

quiet, loving lightening, 

Eyea that were most heavenly. 

Then, aa though a gush from heaven on angtlio 

voices driven, 
When a sinner is forgiven, rolled and rushed this 

melody — 
Weloome to the Future-land, come and touoh the 

magio sand. 
Come where shadows never stand, or rest Upon 

the sky or strand, 

We weloome, welcome thee. 



77 

And, bewildered by this meeting, more bewilder- 
ed by the greeting 

That those sweet and fairy creatures there bad 
given, then to me, 

I, not waiting more of pressing, gave the shore 
my foot's caressing, 

Joyously my fortuno blessing, and those angel 
shapes a blessing, 

That so warmly welcomed me. 

So they showed mo all the glory of that land, 

and told the story 
How every human heart had hopes there, sweet 

joys that wero to be, 
Some in hundreds, some one only, but no living 

soul eo lonely, 
None so all be steeped in sadness, but that there, 

there were some gladness 

Lighting its futurity. 

Then I asked them, so dissembling that they saw 

no inward trembling, 
If so that it wore a custom, would they show my 

hope to me ! 
When— ah ! how well I knew ber — radiant as an 

heavenly flower 
Plaoked within the reoent hour, from tho rarest 

Eden bower, 

A fair maiden oame to me. 

Wavy hair like Lethe laving— black as plumage 
of the ravon, 

And eyes lustrous, of a warm, a deep and soul- 
lit gray , 

Lips that, like tho bow of Cupid, bent in beauty, 
coral- looped, 

Teeth, whose white, transparent edges, lovely 
little pearly wedges, 

Peeped between her smiles of glee. 

" Mannie," so the angels oalled her, " Mannie," 

and my bosom told her, 
Told her of that deep devotion that my heart and 

lips would say, 
How that all that earth had given, and my very 

hopes of heaven, 
Would be nothing, could be nothing, unless this, 

my ardont loving, 

Found some favour in her eye. 

Then she smiled a smile upon me, and no more 

was my heart lonely, 
For I lived with that around mo iu one ceaseless 

ecstasy ; 
Deeper love than mortals noting, this I gave her 

soul devoting, 
Playful as a feather floating, firm as mountains 

in its rooting, 

Endless as eternity. 

80, with wayward wills, we wandered where the 

loitering rills meandered, 
Her step was music, and her voioe was sweeter 

than raro minstrelsy, 
Her look, a joy no thought oould measure, her 

presence a delicious pleasure, 
And life itself hath not a leisure wide enough to 

prize tho treasure 

Mannie's heart then was to me. 

And so, after my returning from that land of 

fanoy's burning, 
O'er tho billows my prow turning back, across 

that dreamy sea, 
That sweet face I ne'er could sever from my soul, 

but clinging over 
As a wavo that crests a river, heart and loving 

thoughts together, 

Thoughts of her beat ceaselessly 

Home Journal . N.Y. f 4-9-53 

Kir, Everett at Trlpler Hall. 

— To get into the sohoolbooke it one of 
the coveted distinctions of American litera- 
ture Mr. Everett's orations have so exten- 
sively enjoyed this distinction, that probably 



1853 




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panjing gwtHFM, Plainly dreawd in » suit 
of bUok, from boott to thirt oolUr, of a oom- 
pact, ereot figure, of medium height, his head 
gray, exoept upon its bald orown, his faoe of 
a uniform rose colour— he has the air of a 
prosperous gentleman and solid Bostonian. 
Both himself and his speeoh were exceedingly 
well reoeived by the audience 

A few of Mr. Everett's faots and ideas will 
interest those of our readers who have not 
read the report of the lecture in the daily 
papers. This was a good hit : the island of 
Manhattan, whioh eonta'.ns twenty-four thou- 
sand aores, was purchased of the Indians by 
the Dutoh, for the sum of twenty-four dollars ; 
and, said the orator, " though a dollar for u 
thousand aores seems rather a low figure for 
choice lots on Manhattan Island, yet had that 
twenty-four dollars been, on the day of the 
purohase, invested at compound interest, it 
would by this time amount to a sum about 
equal to the present value of the whole real 
estate of the island." Here is a story whioh 
produoed a marked sensation : " So little 
confidence," said Mr. Everett, " was placed in 
the vulue of a title to land, even within the 
limits of the State of New-York, that the en- 
terprising citizens of Massachusetts, Gorham 
and Phelps, who bought six millions of aores 
of land on the Genesee River, shortly after 
tbe peace, for a few oents the acre, were 
obliged to abandon tbe greater part of the 
purohase, from the difficulty of finding under 
purchasers to take enough of it off their hands 
to enable them to meet the first instalments. 
On one occasion, when Judge Gorham was 
musing in a *tate of mental depression on the 
failure of this magnificent speculation, he was 
visited by his friend and townsman who had 
returned from a journey to Canandaigua, then 
just laid out. This fripnd tripd to choei tbe 
judge with a bright vision of the future growth 
of Western New- York, and kindling with his 
theme, pointed to a son of Judge Gorbam, who 
was in tbe room, and added, ' You and I will 
not live to see the day ; but that lad, if he 
reaches three-soore years and ton, will see a 
daily stage coach running as far West as 
Canandaigua !' That lad is still living " 

Canandaigua is now a network of railroads, 
and the locomotive shrieks through it and 
across it every hour of the day and night. 
Mr. Everett mentioned, what we believe is not 
generally known, that Brunei, the engineer of 
the Thames Tunnel, came over-to this country 
after the revolution, und dec'ared, in due form, 
his intention to become un American citizen. 
This fact tbe lecturer learned from Brunei's 
own lips. Another story was reoeived with 
an uproar of applause Mr. Everett said : — 
" When I was in London, a few years ago, I 
received a letter from one of the interior 
oounties of England, telling me that they had 
in their House of Corrcotion an American 
seaman, (or a person who pretended to be,) 
who was both pauper and rogue. They wero 
desirous of being rid of him, and kindly offer- 
ed to place him it my disposal. Although he 
did not bid fair to be a very valuable acquisi- 



78 
tion, I wrote back that he might be sent to 
London, where he could be shipped by the 
American Consul to the United States. I 
ventured to add the suggestion, that if her 
Majesty's minister at Washington were ap- 
plied to in a similar way by the overseors of 
the poor apd wardens of the prison s in the 
United States, he would be pretty busily oo- 
oupiod. But I really felt pleased, at a time 
when my own little State of Massachusetts 
was assi ting from ten to twelve thousand des- 
titute British subjects annually, to be able to 
relieve the British Empiro of the only Ameri- 
can pauper quartered upon it " 

Wo were glad to hear so influential a voice 
as Mr. Everett's lifted against the narrow 
prejudices entertained by many against the 
influx of foreigners into this country. " This 

country," as the lecturer verv forcihl» r>K. 
served, "has not only grown great by emi- 
gration, but to emigration owes Its existence; 
and to shut the door upon further emigration, 
would bo as unworthy as to break down a 
bridpe over which we ourselves had esoaped, 
while yet it was crowded with fugitives, flee- 
ing from the very calamities wbioh had caused 
our own flight." 

Home' Jour nal , N.Y., 6-11-53 



A friend who has recontly visited the 

Cooper House, Cooperstown, Otsogo county, late 
the residence of J. Ftnimore Cooper, (which wo 
noticed at length in tho Home Journal of July 
30,) describes it as a most agreeable place of re 
sort. The house is elegantly fitted up as a 
hotel, and already is patronised by the public to 
an extent unprecedented for a plaoe situated 
off the great lines of railroad communication, 
and, therefore, but little known to the travelling 
community. Our informant left New-York city 
in the morning, and reached Cooperstown the 
same eveuiog, by the Hudson River and Central 
Railroads, to Fort Plain, and thence twenty- 
fonr miles by plank-road. 

PERSONAL. 



Bavabd Taylor, who has been for some time 
id China, watching tbe progress of tbe rebellion, 
has joined the Japan expedition under Commo- 
dore Perrv. He has been assigned a place in 
the corps of artist*, with the rank of master's 
mate. Mr. Taylor is expected to return to the 

United States next March. 

Ibid ., 8-27-53 

Most of our touring and ruralizing 

editors have returned to their posts, and are 
strong in the resolve to do the brilliant thing, 

during the present season. The lecturers are 

still busy in the work of preparation for the 
winter campaign. There will be no lack of in- 
teresting oourses. Now is the time for country 
Lyceums to secure the services of the best lec- 
turers. Holmkr, Whipple, Chapin, Osgood, 
Emerson, Koeppekt, James, Giles, Curtis, 
are all, we believe, open to negotiation, and 
most of them have something new upon the 

anvil Of Thackeray's movements we find 

no indication in the English papers He left 
this country with the intention of returning in 
August; but as he announces a new serial, he 



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placet before hie bearers in words full of a 
strong vitality, and produoee by them a higher 
love for truth and justioe in the human breast. 
Parker, however, as a thoologist, is not pow- 
erful ; nor oan he talk well upon the most 
sublime and most holy doctrines of revelation, 
because he does not understand them. In his 
outbursts against the petrified orthodoxy, and 
the petrified ohuroh, ho is often happy and 
true. But I think that people may say of 
him as somebody said about a greater man, 
Luther, " It a bun critique mats pauvrement 
doctrine"." Parker, however, investigates ear- 
nestly, and speaks out his thoughts honestly, 
and that is always a great merit. More we 
oan hardly desire of a man. Beyond this he 
teaches to be very good, to do muoh good. 

Nathahhi. Hawthorn* on Woman's 

Rishts. — Despise woman ? No ! She is the 
most admirable handiwork of God, in her 
true plaee and obaraoter. Her plaee is at 
man's ride. Her office, that of the sympa- 
thiser; the unreserved, unquestioning be- 
liever; the recognition, withheld in every 
other manner, bnt given, in pity, through 
woman's heart, lest man should utterly lose 
faith in himself; the echo of God's own voioe, 
pronouncing, " It is well done !" All the 
separate action of woman is, and ever has 
been, and always shall be, false, foolish, vain, 
destructive of her own best and holiest quali- 
ties, void of every good effeot, and productive 
of intolerable mischiefs! Man is a wretch 
without woman ; but woman is a monster — 
and, thank Heaven, an almost impossible and 
hitherto imaginary monster — without man as 
her acknowledged prinoipal ! As true as I 
had once a mother whom I loved, were there 
any possible prospect of woman's taking the 
sooial stand whioh some of them— poor, mise- 
rable, abortive oreatures, who only dream of 
such things beoause they have missed wo- 
man's peouliar happiness, or because nature 
made them really neither man nor woman ! — 
if there were a chance of their attaining the 
end whioh these pettiooated monstrosities 
have in view, I would call upon my own sex 
to use its physioal foroe, that unmistakable 
evidence of sovereignty, to scourge them baok 
within their proper bounds ! But it will not 
be needfnl. The heart of true womanhood 
knows where its own sphere is, and never 
seeks to stray beyond it ! 

Ibid , . 10-15-53, p. 4. 



FASHION. 



BT HORATIO GWMOCIH. 



Fashion has lived too long, and exercised 
an influent* too potent for us either to deny 
or to escape it. 1 wish to analyse it briefly. 
The fact that it runs counter to functional re- 
quirement oft-times; that it is imperative for 
its hoar, and that it loses all olaim even to re- 
speet or gratitude after that hour is passed, 
brings it into the same category with certain 
British sovereigns, who are stamped as the 
first gentlemen and ladies of Christendom, as 
long as they sit upon the throne, and who are 
(bond, by subsequent analysis, to require a 
new definition of deoenoy or propriety to 
bring them within the elass of reputable men. 

I regard the fashion as the instinotive effort 
of the stationary to pass itself off for progress ; 
its embellishment exhibits the rhythm of or- 
ganisation, without the oapaoity for action ; 



79 
so the fashion boasts the sensuous phenomena 
of progress without any real advance. The 
one and the other are, I believe, opiates, in- 
tended to quell and lull the wholesome de- 
mands of nature, and of the author of nature. 
I believe both are better than nothing ; for a 
false homage to the good has more hope in it 
than a oonsoious adherence to wrong. 

Wherever the student of modern life turns 
his eye, he sees, among other apparently more 
substantial and serious obstaoles to advance- 
ment and reform, a phantom-like opponent 
who, though no man may say whenoe he 
oomes, or who is his sire, assumes the purple, 
and rules with a rod of iron. I mean the 
Fashion. I mean the essential mode.' I do 
not mean to reflect upon the victims and sub- 
jects of this despot. I believe we all bow the 
neck to him, more or less , nor do I mean to 
assert that he has no right of any sort to our 
regard, for he has might, and might always 
means something very serious. I wish to put 
him to the test of analysis, and find an intel- 
ligible definition pf him, that I may know at 
least where and how far we may lasily sub- 
mit, when and how we may rebel with a 
chance of freedom. 

The Fashion is not ooeval with the race — 
ho was not a younger brother of the sun and 
stars, a second born of heaven. The great 
civilisations of antiquity never saw him till the 
epoch of their deoline. The Iliad and the 
Greek tragedies have no traoe of him. Even 
the modern man, in his hour of travail and of 
wo, wots not of him ; he is a flutterer in the 
sunshine of superfluity. He is protean, elu- 
sive, he is here and gone ; and when we had 
believed him dead, is here again in the twink- 
ling of an eye ! We had hoped that this 
change was a search after the good, until we 
felt that he glorified in the no logic of his 
shifting. We had hoped that he was seeking 
a wise folly, and that when the cirole of folly 
was run, he would turn to wisdom in despair. 
But again and again he flies to the old folly, 
and gilds with his sanction the exploded silli- 
ness of a few years since. 

The Fashion is no respecter of persons. He 
has apparently no preferences of a distinot 
and reliable nature. He gives no premonitory 
symptoms of his approach. He expires in full 
vigour, and, like Tadur, reappears in the 
form of some other impotent, dumb, and 
voiceless form. 

His essential characteristic is change ; he is 
a dodger, an ever new countersign, a Bramah 
look, which, when Mr. Hobbs has made his 
key, instantly beoomes a common padlock, 
and so puts him to shame. 

I understand by the Fashion the instinotive 
effort of pretension to give, by mere change, 
the sensuous semblance of progress. I look 
upon it as a pis alltr of the stationary to pass 
itself off for locomotion. I regard it as a uni- 
form, with whioh thinking humanity cripples 
its gait, in the vain hope that the unthinking 
may keep up with itself. It is a result of the 
desperate effort to make a distinction out of 
nothing, and is only driven from change to 
change, because nothing is a fruit that grows 
within the reach of all. 

Still, Fashion denotes u hope of better 
things. It betrays a lurking want not dearly 
cxprossed, and it givos stonos and sorponts to 
stop our craving, only because it luw noitlmr 
bread uor ushos to bestow. Fashion is no po- 
sitive evil, and has been often a relative good. 
As etiquette, though a poor make-shift, still 
confesses the existence of propriety, its super- 
stition, with all its darkness, would prove a 



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without mercy ; but, at the same time, with 
wonderful address. Emerson's performances 
in this way ars really quite regal. They re- 
mind me of our King Gust&vus Adolphus the 
Great, when he took the criminal soldier by 
the hair, and delivered him over to punish- 
ment, with the friendly words, " Come, my 
lad, it is better that thy body now suffer 
chastisement, than that thy soul go to hell." 
Yet there is moro in Emerson even than the 
intention of ohastisement. The writings of 
this soorner of imperfeotion, of the mean and 
paltry, this bold ezacter of perfeotion in man, 
have for me a fasoination whioh amounts al- 
most to magio ! I often object to him ; I 
quarrel with him ; I see that his stoioism is 
one-sidedness, his pantheism an imperfeotion, 
and I know that whioh is greater and more 
perfeot, but I am under the influence of his 
magical power. I believe myself to have be- 
come greater through his greatness, stronger 
through his strength, and 1 breathe the air of 
a higher sphere in his world, whioh is inde- 
scribably refreshing to me. Emerson has 
more ideality than is common among thinkers 
of the English race, and one might say that 
in him the idealism of Germany is wedded to 
the realism of Britain. 

I have, as yet, never gone a step to see a 
literary lion ; but Waldo Emerson, this pio- 
peer in the moral woods of the New World, 
who sets his axe to the roots of the old trees, 
to hew them down, and to open the path for 
new planting, I would go a considerable way to 
see this man. And see him I will — him who, 
in a society as strictly erangelioal as that of 
Massachusetts and Boston, (Emerson was the 
minister of a Unitarian congregation in Bos- 
ton,) had the courage openly to resign his 
ministration, his ohuroh, ana the Christian 
faith, when he had come to doubt of its prin- 
ciple doctrines; who was noble enough, never- 
theless, to retain universal esteem and old 
friends ; and strong enough, while avoiding 
all polemical controversy and bitterness of 
speooh, to withdraw into silenoe, to labour 
alone for that truth whioh he fully acknow- 
ledged, for those dootrinos whioh the heathen 
ana the Christian alike acknowledge. Emer- 
son has a right to talk about strength and 
trutn, because he lives for these virtues. And 
it will benefit the world which is slumbering 
in the Church from the laok of vital Chris- 
tianity, to be roused up by such fresh winds 
from the Himalaya of heathenism. But how 

oan Emerson overlook ? Yet 1 will not 

ask about it. Emerson is just and true. 
Would that many were like him ! * * * 
* * • * Last of all, 1 oome to the poems 
of Waldo Emerson — small in dimensions, but 
great in their spirit and tone ; and read aloud 
a little dithyrambio poem, whioh is character- 
istic of the individuality of the poet. Other 
American poets speuk to society ; Emerson al- 
ways merely to the individual , but they all 
are to me as a breeze from the life of the New 
World, in a certain illimitable vastuess of life, 
in expectation, in demand, in faith and hope — 
a something which makes me draw a deeper 
breath, and, as it were, in a larger, freer 
world. * »«**»»#»#« 

Emorson came to meet us, walking down 
the little avenue of spruoe firs which leads 
from his house, bare-headed, amid the falling 
snow. He is a quiet, nobly grave figure, with 
strongly marked features and dark hair. He 
is a very peculiar oharaoter, but too oold and 
hypercritical to please me entirely ; a strong, 
clear eye, always looking out for an ideal, 



80 
whioh he never finds realized on earth ; dis- 
covering wants, short-comings, imperfections, 
and too strong and healthy himself to under- 
stand other people's weaknesses and sufferings, 
for he even despises suffering as a weakness 
unworthy of higher natures. This singularity 
of oharaoter leads one to suppose that he ha* 
never been ill. Sorrows, however, he has 
had, and has felt them deeply, as some of bis 
most beautiful poems prove ; nevertheless, he 
has only allowed himself to be bowed for a 
short time by these griefs— the deaths of two 
beautiful and beloved brothers, as well as that 
of a beautiful little boy, his eldest son. He 
has also lost his first wife, after having been 
married soaroely a year. 

Emerson is now married for the seoond 
time, and has three ohildren. He interested 
me, without warming me. Thatoritioal crys- 
talline and cold nature may be very estimable, 
quite healthy, and, in its way, beneficial for 
those who possess it, and also for others, who 
allow themselves to be criticised by it. But — 
for me— David's heart with David's songs ! 

I shall return to this home in oonsequenoe 
of a very kind invitation to do so from Emer- 
son and his wife, and in order that I may see 
more of this sphinx-like individual. From this 
worshipper of nature, who does not belong to 
any ohuroh, and who will not permit his 
ohildren to be baptized, beoause he considers 
the nature of a ohild purer than is commonly 
that of a full-grown, sinful man; — we went to 
sleep at the house of a stern old Puritan, 
where we had long prayers, kneeling with our 
faces to the wall. •##**#•# 

During the four days that I remained in 
Emerson's house, I had a real enjoyment in 
the study of this strong, noble, eagle-like na- 
ture. 1 enjoyed the contemplation of him, in 
his demeunour, his expression, his mode of 
talking, and his everyday life, as 1 enjoy oon- 
tcuiplating the oalm How of a river bearing 
along, and between flowery shores, large and 
small vessels— as 1 love to see the eagle cir- 
cling in the clouds, resting upon them and its 
pinions. In this calm elevation Emerson al- 
lows nothing to reaoh him, neither great nor 
■mall ; neither prosperity nor adversity. 

Pantheistic m Emerson is in his philosophy, 

in the moral viow with which he regards the 
world and life, he is in a high degree pure, 
noble and severe, demanding as much from 
himself as he demands from others. His words 
are severe, his judgement often keen and mer- 
ciless, but his demeanour is alike noble and 
pleasing, and his voice beautiful. One may 
quarrel with Emerson's thoughts, with his 
judgement, but not with himself. That which 
struck me most as distinguishing him from 
most other human beings, is nobility. He is a 
born-nobleman. I have seen before two other 
men born with this stamp upon them. His 

Excellency, W r, in Sweden, and , 

is the seoond, Emerson the third which has it, 
and perhaps in a yet higher degree. And 
added thereto that deep intonation of voice, 
that expression, so mild yet so elevated at the 
same time. I could not but think of Maria 
Lowell's words, " If he merely mentions my 
name I feel myself ennobled." 

He read to me one afternoon some portions 
of his Observations on England, (in manu- 
script.) and sornpH from hi* conversations 
with Thomas Carlyle, (tho only man of whom 
I heard Emerson speak with anything like ad- 
miration.) about " the Young America," as 
well as the narrative of his journey with him 
to Stonehonge. There are some of these 



1853 




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1853 
INTERESTING 



TO LADIES. 



HAWTHOKNB VMM WOMAN'S BMBTt 
7* tkt Mdifr* %f iAi JVmm /< 

Mr. Hawthorn* ought sol to have 

•aid that. Ho ought, not to bar* •pokes of 
"scourging; wobiod book within thou* proper 
bounds." He ought not to here done it, be- 
oau»e such a threat, hypothetical though it 
be. only gives the poor, miserabla, abortive 
creature* he speaks of, another argument in 
support of their false and wlokea theories. 
He ought not to have >lone it, because, "if 
there were a chanoe" that women should 
oome to be competitor* and associate* with 
men in public and political life, "physical 
foroe" oould not prevent it, or oould only so 
prevent it, as to degrade woman, and with 
her to degrade and dishonour man. It oould 
not prevent it, beoause, if woman really has 
the lntolleotual force to oomo near attaining 
the position a few are aiming at, man's physi- 
cal superiority could hardly triumph over her, 
any more than the strength of the horse and 
the lion can oonquor th fi greater sagacity of 
man. It oould not prevent it beoause any- 
thing which looks life persecution, strength- 
ens, rather than weakens th* oause it opposes. 
He ought not to have said it, because it ex- 
poses him to the •uspicion, notwithstanding 
his disclaimer, of fooling some lurking fear, 
lest suoh " a chanoe" might arise. He ought 
not to have said it, because, if ho have no 
suoh fear, he has been guilty of making a 
useless display of his consciousness of " sove- 
reignty," altogether ansuited to a sovereign's 
dignity. He ought not to have said it, beoause 
the unprovoked insult makes the blood to boil 
in the veins of th* faithful subject* of the 
royal brotherhood. He ought not to have 
said it, because it is unbecoming in a sovereign 
to allow his temper to be so ruffled by the im- 
potent demonstrations of a handful of restless 
agitators, as to wound the feelings of the 
multitudes of his contented, peaceful, and 
loyal citizens, by a mortifying threat, held as 
a terror over their heads. It is even so, that 
" the heart of trn* womanhood knows where 
its own sphere is, and never seeks to stray be- 

Jond it." Bat soon, alas ! would womanhood 
e debased and become false, should the 
hand of manhood become heavy upon her, or 
threaten to become heavy. 

GsaTaunE Mason. 

The Home Journal , 

N.Y. , 11-12-53, p. 4. 



INTERESTING TO LADIES. 



HAWTHORNE DEFENDED. 

[Wo published, a few weeks ago, s 

paragraph from Mr. Hawthorne's works, in 
which tho writer seemed to intimate, that 
women who persisted in going beyond their 
natural .sphere, to mingle in political conten- 
tions, thould, if necessary, be " scourged" 
buck to their appointed plaoe. This para- 
graph ws out from a oolumn of Hawthornian 
*' Spico Islands," in a now^paper published at 
Honolulu, and wo hava no doubt the paragraph 
does occur somewhere in Hawthorne's works. 
Probably, however, it is ppoken hy one of the 
persons in a novel, and ought not to be taken 
at* an expression of the author's own feelings. 
Mr. Hawthorne is a man of genius, and, 
there/ore, a revcrer of that sex to which his 



81 

Mother belonged, from whom be derived both 
genius and life. Wo gladly give place, how- 
ever, to tho following defonce of his charaoter 
in this respect, from tho pen of a lody who 
in generously jealous of Ms honour.] 

To th* Editor* of th* Horn* Journal. 

Gentlemen : — In a recent number of the 
Home Journal, 1 observo a paragraph pur- 
porting to contain Hawthorne's opinion and 
feeling upon tho subject of tho " Woman's 
Rights Movement." Not only the sentiments 
expressed in this paragraph, but the terms in 
which thoy aro conveyed are so harsh, so 
bard, and bo contemptuous of woman, that 1 
feel confident few women of any sensibility 
could read them (even though they felt not 
the slightest sympathy with the movement in 
question) without a feeling of resentment 
ogainst their author. Now, inasmuoh as 
Hawthorno never ox pressed any such senti- 
ments, but, on the contrary, the very reverse 
of theso, I tako tho liberty of pointing out 
tho error, and favouring yourself and your 
readers with what Hawthorne, in the charao- 
ter of "Miles Coverdale," really does say on 
this momentous question. I presume no one 
who has read " The Blythcdale Romance," 
tho work in which tho paragraph ocours, will 
fail to recogniso the author in this oharaotcr. 
Ho himself admits the identity in his preface, 
and throughout his work. Coverdale says: 
" I will give you leave, Zenobine, to fling your 
utmost bcorn upon me, if you ever hear me 
utter a sentiment unfavourable to the widest 
liberty which woman has yet dreamed of. I 
would give her all she asks, and add a great 
doal more, which she will Dot be the party to 
demand, but which men, if they were gene- 
rous and wise, would grant of their own free 
motion. For instance, I should love dearly — 
for the next three thousand years, at least — 
to have all government devolve into the 
hands of women. I hate to be ruled by my 
own sex; it excites my jealousy and wounds 
my pride. It is the iron sway of bodily foroe' 
which abases us, in our compelled submission. 
But how sweet the free, generous oourtesy, 
with which I would kneel before a woman 
ruler." " Yes, if she were young and beauti- 
ful," said Zeuobia, laughing. "But how if 
she wero sixty, and a fright?" "Ah! it is 
you that rate womanhood low," said I. " But 
let mo go oa. 1 have never found it possiblo 
to suffer a bearded priest so near my heart 
and conscience, as to Uo me.auy spiritual good. 
I blush at the very thought ! 0, in the better 
order of things, Heaven grant that the min- 
istry of souls may be lelt in the oharge of 
women ! Tho task belongs to woman. God 
meant it for her. He has endowed her with 
the religious sentiment in its utmost depth 
and purity, rofined from that gross intellectual 
alloy with which every masculine theologist 
— savo only one, who merely veiled himself 
in mortal and masculine shape, but was, in 
truth, divine — has been prone to mingle it. 

I have always euvied tho Catholics their faith 
in that swcot, snored Virgin Mother, who 
stands between them and tho Deity, intercept- 
ing somewhat of his awful splendour, but 
permitting his love to stream upon the wor- 
shipper nioro intelligibly to human comprehen- 
sion, through the medium of a woman's ten- 
derness." Then follows the passage from the 
mouth of Iiollingswortb, with which your 
readers are already familiar. Hollingsworth, 
a man whom the author repeatedly stigma- 
tizes as narrow and egotistical, originally a 
great and good heart, it is true, but hardened, 



1854 

narrowed, and falsified by a fanatical devo- 
tiou of his life to one idea, proposes to use his 
physical force, " that unmistakeable evidence 
of sovereignty, to ecourge these petticoated 
monstrosities," who have dared to dream of 
any other life than that which man has al- 
ready assigned them, back to their places. 
" But it will not bo needful," he complacently 
adds. '• The heart of truo womanhood knows 
where its own sphere is, and nevor seeks to 
stray beyond it !"' The heart of true woman- 
hood, indeed! The great shaggy monster! 
I wi3h one of his four-footed brethren of the 
polar regions had him in hand, to teach him 
on whioh side tho " unmistakeable evidence of 
sovereignty" lay, and that all men of his 
ol-'Bs would leave such delicate matters as the 
" heart of true womauhood," to work out 
their own destiny uncontaminated of their 
touch. Towards the close of tho book, "Haw- 
thorne, again dolivers himself in this wise. 
" It was a woful thought, that a woman of 
Zeaobia's diversified capacity, should have 
fancied herself irretrievably defeated on the 
broad battle-field of life, and with no refuge, 
Bave to fall on her own sword, merely because 
love had gone against her. It is nonsenso 
and a miserable wrODg, — the result, liko so 
many others, of masculine egotism, — that the 
success or failure of woman's existence should 
be made to depend wholly on the affections, 
and on one species of affection, while man has 
such a multitude of other chances, that this 
seems but an incident. For its own sake, if 
it will do no more, tho world should throw 
open all its avenues to the passport of a wo- 
man's bleeding heart." I have deemed it a 
right, in Mr. Hawthorne's absence from the 
country, to call attention to this error — that 
the weight of so popular a name may not be 
thrown, even temporarily, into tho wrong 
scale. I trust you will print the foregoing, 
and oblige a Brook Farmer. 

Ibid .. 11-19-53, p. 4. 

Acted Charade*. 

Mr. Thaokeray, when he was in this 

oountry, need to praise the plan of dividing 
and uniting two apartments by folding-doors ; 
which, though here universal, he said was a 
notion the general English were not " up to." 
Folding-doors are certainly very convenient 
for acting charades ; aa on* parlour serves as 
a theatre, and the other for a stage, and the 
doors form an excellent o ur tain . This amuse- 
ment, since Jane Eyre taught everybody how 
it is managed, has been a favourite one in this 
city ; and never so much so as this winter. 
It is easy, and may be inexpensive. For ex- 
ample,— we saw, the other evening, three 
effective scenes, suggested by a simple word, 
whioh the reader shall guess. Scene first was 
from the fourth act of the " Merchant of 
Venice," in which Shylook, Portia and Antonio 
appear, the Jew insisting on his bond. Scene 
seoond represented John Anderson and his 
loving spouse— a beautiful pioture of age. 
Scene third bore a remote resemblanoe to a 
ootton-field, with negroes at work under an 
overseer, whioh the reader has already con- 
cluded vu meant to represent bondage. On 
this occasion, the characters spoke and song ; 
but, in ease the oompany is weak in histrio- 
nio and vocal talent, tableaux will answer the 



1854 

purpose. Nor is a oostly wardrobe neoesaary. 
The charade just referred.to, was performed 
without any expenditure for dress, exoept a 
little time in adapting various articles to 
their new use. The hoes in the ootton scene 
were oompoaed ot broomstioks and pasteboard, 
and they looked by gas-light as natural sb 
life. Aoted obaradcs, in short, are as good 
and convenient a winter-evening entertain- 
ment as any that has lately come into vogue. 

Ibid . , 1-21-54, p. 2. 

The drama of Fauitoe has been played 
recently in San Francis**. " Mr. Bingham's 
Mephistophilsa," remarks one of the papers, 
in the true Californian style of blunt sin- 
cerity, " was badly done. He plaoea too. 
muoh stress of voio* upon eertain words, 
whioh changes the meaning, or leads to the 
misinterpretation of the sentenoe , and it 
seems almost an impossibility for him to utter 
a sentenoe, or muoh less a single syllable) 
without giving it the sound of a full nete in 
music" There are actors nearer home who 
might profitably consider these observations. 
"Tonight," adds the oritio, "Mrs. Baker 
appears as Faustus." Goethe would have 
liked to see Mrs. Baker play Faustus. 

Ibid ,, 1-21-54, p. 2. 

The mother or Ralph Waldo Kmkh- 

so«. — Fifty years ago, the Reverend William 
Emerson, minister of the First Church "in Bos- 
ton, was a prominent man in the religions in- 
struction and the literary enterprises of tho 
town. Ho Was of an active spirit, bent upon 
doing something considerable in his place and 
time. But his time was appointed to be short. 
In the midst of his plans and honourable la- 
bours, he diod in 1811, at the age of forty-two, 
leaving in widowhood the oxoellont lady who 
ha« now followed him, at a littlo more than 
double that number of years. She was born 
in Boston, November 9th, 1768, the daughter 
of Mr. John Masking, and died in Conoord, her 
husband's birthplace, aged eighty-five years 
and one week. Mr. Emerson's death left bor 
with the care of six children, five of thorn 
sons, of whom the oldest wasyetat sohool. In 
that year of her bereavement, such a heavy, 
responsible and precarious charge seemed to 
the eyes of many persons to cast upon her an 
increased burden of trial. But she showed 
herself equal to those anxious circumstances. 
She knew how to exercise a prudent fore- 
thought, economy and self denial; and her 
position and personal worth raised around her 
many friends. Four of her five sons she car- 
ried through Harvard College, where they all 
distinguished themselves. They were the joy 
and pride of her widowed life They were 
more than her jewels. They were evidence* 
to the world of her motherly wisdom and 
faithfulness. Of these, Edward Bliss and 
Charles Cbauncey not only oarriod away the 
first honours of the University, but attraoted 
public admiration as very fow such young 
leaders do. They both gave the highest pro- 
mise of eminenoe, and both died young, two 
years apart from oach other. The eyes of the 
writer fill, as he remembers their faces. It 
might not seem delicate in us to speak of tho 
other two ; and we will add but a word. The 



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82 

eldor is a counsellor at New- York, and huB 
been a judgo— beloved wherover he is known, 
and universally confided in. The other has 
tho loastof his praises in his fame. Wo should 
not know where to find a nobler and gontler 
spirit. The family was not broken up till 
1826. Mrs. Emerson then accepted the 
pressing invitation of the venerable Doctor 
Ripley, of Conoord, to make his house her 
home, thus supplying the plaoe of his de- 
ceased daughter, who was her husband's half- 
sister. In 1835, a new home, and her last 
earthly one, was found in the family of her 
son, with whom, indeed, she had resided for 
several years before, though not in the same 
dwelling. " Never was person more blessed in 
natural temper," says one who knew, " more 
oalm, amiable, solf-respeoting, self-helping." 
She was a woman of great patienoe and for- 
titude, of the serenest trust in God, of a dis- 
cerning spirit, and a most oourteous bear- 
ing ; one who knew how to guide the affairs 
of her own house, as long as she was rosponsi- o "3 o 5 £ 
ble for that, with the sweetest authority ; and 
who knew how to give the least trouble and 
the greatest happiness, after that authority 
was resigned.- Both her mind and her cha- 
racter were of a superior order, and they set 
their stamp upon manners of peculiar softness 
and natural grace and quiet dignity. Her 
sensible and kindly speech was always as good 
as instruction ; her smile, though it was ever 
ready, was a reward. Her dark, liquid eyes, 
from whioh old age oould not take away the 
expression, will be among the remembranoes 
of all on whom they ever rested. Her Chris- 
tian faith, and all .the dispositions whioh it 
nourishes, were her support to the end of her 
life. Her death was hastened at last by a ca- 
lamity that often befalls the aged, tho fraoture 
of the neck of the thigh-bone — a part whioh 
is apt to become thin and brittle with time. 
This* sad acoident confined her long to her bed, 
and gave large room for the exercise of her. 
meekness and oonstanoy. — Christian Exam. 

Ibid . , 1-21-54, p. 4. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON AT THE NEW 
YORK TABERNACLE. 

[Correspondence of tlio Boston Transcript.] 

New York, March 8th, 1854. 
Ralph Waldo Emerson dolivered a lecture in 
the Broadway Tabernaclo last ovening, upon Slave- 
ry. One has a curiosity to he.ar what such a man 
has to say upon such a subject, and how he sava 
it, — a subjoct which has beon beaton to and fro 
over and over again, but which yet summons now 
voices to the chorus of tho battle-cry, and new as- 
sailants to the Sold. All grades of verbal warriors 
now try their strength upon it. The musketry of 
the nowly-flodged Congressman and tho cannonade 
of the Massachusetts Senator havo just been level- 
led against its front. Wendell Phillips pierces it 
with the delicate rapier of his silvery eloquence. 
Garrison slashes at it with the big battle-axe of 
fervid denunciation. Theodore Parker stabs at its 
heart with the crooked, poisoned dagger of his bit- 
ter sarcasm. Now and then we hear a pistol-shot 
— it is from one of the female allies who cease- 
lessly harass the enemy's flanks. From them, too, 
come the tiny, barbed arrows, — like unto those 
wherewith the Lilliputians wounded the great Gul- 
liver — that sting like insects, ojid ruffle tlio giant's 
temper. And now appears onco more in tho bat- 
tle-field the great dreuuer ; ho, who, liko Fine-Ear 

in tho fairy talo, lies upon tho groensward and lis- 
tens to tho motion of each blade of grass, to tho 



1854 



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1854 

Symphonies. Though here and there, the hidden 
sense has been obscure to our dull perceptions, or 
a false note hns been struck which jars upon our 
ears, yet the strains of music float in our delighted 
senses with too sweet a tone to sanction a word of 
censure, We hear in our memories only the grand 
harmony that has enchanted us — gladly forgetting 
• the discord and the straining.' 

Mr. Emerson told his hearers that he did not 
like to speak in public, upon the great questions 
of the day. Only when those questions seemed to 
reach the closets of students and scholars, to which 
his habitual view is confined, did he leave his pe- 
culiar track. Yet that class of students in some 
sort comprises all mankind ; comprises every man 
in tho best hours of his lifo ; and in these days, in 
our own land, not only virtually but actually ; — 
for who are the readers and thinkers of 1854? 
Look into the moving train, which from every 
suburb, carries tho workman to his toil, and the 
merchant to his counting-room. With them on- 
tcrs tho small newsboy,— the huinblo priest of phi- 
losophy, and literature, and religion, and unfolds 
his magical sheets. Then instantly the entire rec- 
tangular assembly, fresh from their breakfast, are 
bonding as ono man for tho second breakfast. 

Soon Mr. Emerson began to speak of Webster ; 
growing moro animated iri his manner, and slowly , 
moving his clinched hand to and fro.- Ho suid that I 
in what he had to say of that eminent man, he 
should not confound him with vulgar politicians of 
his time or since. Thero aro always those who aro 
baso enough, and mean enough, to calculate upon 
the ignorance of tho masses. That is their quarry 
and their farm. The low can best win the low, 
and all men liko to be made much of. There are 
men, too, who-have power and inspiration only to 
do ill. Not such a man was Daniel Webster. 
Though he knew very well, when necessary, how 
to present his personal claims, yet in his argument 
he generally kept his fact bare of personality; so 
that his splendid wrath, when his eyes beoame 
lamps, was the wrath of the cause he stood for. 
His power, like that of the Greek masters, was not 
in excellent parts, but total. Ho had a great and 
everywhere equal propriety. He worked with that 
closeness of adhesion which a joiner uses ; and 
had the same quiet fitness of place that an oak or 
a mountain might have. The great show their 
power in nothing more than in their ability to mis- 
lead us. In perilous times, men look for some 
great captain, under the shadow of whose name, 
inferior men may shelter themselves. He is re- 
sponsible, and they will not be. It will always 
suffice to say, ' T will follow him.'' 

From this line of remark. Mr. Emerson passed 
to a consideration of Mr. Webster's course on the 
7th of March ; saying that no one doubted, that, 
with regard to the cause of the South, many good 
and plausible things might bo said. But tho great 
question then, was not a question of ingenuity, nor 
of syllogisms, — but of side*. All know whero he 
was found. How came he thw* The groat ques- 
tion which history will asic / n tho final hoifr, is 
this : In tho conflict of forces, when ho was forced 
by tho peremptory necessity of closing armies to 
tuke sides, did he take the sido of great principles, 
of humanity, of justice, or tho side of abtiso, op- 
pression and chaos ! We are told that ho left as 
a legacy to the State of Massachusetts, his speech 
of the 7th of March,. with its motto, ' Vera pro 
gratia' — truo things instead of pleasant ones—a 
motto which is praised •« "the mynet tcWchtous of 
all. Surely, that speech is a ghastly result of all 
those years "of experience. It was liko that dole- 
ful lament, falsely attributed to Brutus, 'Virtue, I 
have followed thee through life ; but now I find 
thee a shadow ! ' 

The Liberator. 3-17-54, p. 4. 



83 

Then Mr. Emerson discoursed, for a time, upon 
the Fugitive Slave law, in a manner which would 
have made a Southerner's hair to stand on end 
with indignation ; and so went on to say, that, in 
our instruction as a nation, we have not got be- 
yond the simplest lesson. Events roll 4 millions 
of men are engaged, and the result is always some 
of those first commandments which we heffrd in 
the nursery. The events of this very month are 
teaching ono thing plain and clear — that papers 
are of no use, resolutions of public meetings, plat- 
forms of conventions, laws, constitutions, are of 
use no more. They are all declaratory of the will 
of tho moment ; and are passed with more levity, 
and on grounds much less honorable, than ordina- 
ry business transactions in tho street. You relied 
upon the. Missouri Compromise— -that is ridden 
over. You relied upon State sovereignty to pro- 
tect its citizens ; but they aro driven with con- 
tempt out of tho courts and territories of the Slave 
Suites. And now you relied on those dismal guar- 
antees infamously niado in 1850 ; and bofore tho 
body of Webster is yet crumbled — tho eternal 
monument of his fame and tho common Union is 
gone ! These things show that no forms — neither 
constitutions, nor laws, uor covenants— aro of any 
use of thoinielvcs. " Tho Dovil nestles comfortably 

in tbcin all. Tho only hopo is in tho lifo itself of 
a man. 

After saying much about tho folly of trusting 
implicitly to the opinions and authority of others, 
the speaker camo to tho conclusion of tho whole 
matter, and it was this : That patienco and the 
clforts of good men will at last be repaid, for na- 
ture is not so helpless but that it can rid itself of 
overy wrong. It is the stern edict of progress, 
that liberty shall be no hasty fruit, but that event 
on evont, age on ngc, shall cast itself into tho op- 
posite scale : and not until liberty has accumu- 
lated weight enough to preponderate against these, 
shall the counterpoise como. Tho inconsistency of 
slavery with tho principles upon which the world 
is built, guarantees its downfall. But while we 
own that the patienco it requires to wait is almost 
too sublime for mortals, and one sees how fast the 
rot spreads, I think we domand of superior men of 
the country, that they shall be superior in this : 
that tho mind and virtue of the country shall givo 
their verdict in their day, and help to pull the 
nuisance down. Liberty is the crusade of all brave 
and conscientious men — tho epic poetry, the new 
religion, tho chivalry of all gentlemen. Now, at 
last, we are disenchanted, and have no moro false 
hopes. 1 respect tho Anti-Slavery Society. It is 
the Cassandra that has foretold all that has befallen 
us ; fact after fact, years ago, forotold it all, and . 
no man took it to heart. It seemed, as tho Turks 
say, ' Fate makes that a man should not belicvo 
his own oyos.' But tho Fugitivo Law did muoli to 

unglue the eyes of men, and now the Nebraska 
bill leaves us staring! Tho Anti-Slavery Society 
will add many members this year. Trio Whig 
party will join it ; the Democrats will join it ; the 
population of the Free States will join it ; I doubt 
not, at last, the Slave States will join it. Rut be 
that sooner or later, when it pleases God, and 
whoever comes or stays away, I hope wo have como 
to the end of our unbelief— have come to a belief 
that there is a Divine Providence in the world, 
which will not save us but through our own co- 
operation. 

So the speech ended ; and those who had entered 
tho hall, thinking that the speaker could find no 
new form in which to exhibit his hacl«ceyed sub- 
ject, no felicity of illustration that had not been 
pressed into service, found that, in tho hands of 
the master, tho old theme wears a new boauty 
when clothed with the graces of his thought. 

DELTA. 



1854 







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1854 

troubled with what has been called « an unexam- 
pled shortness of chips.' Emerson's leotures are 
highly paid for ; it would' be difficult to find an au- 
dience that could bo hired to sit through one of Al- 
cott's lectures at any prico. In briof, Emerson is 
respoctable, in tho strict worldly sensa of the word, 
While Alcott's respectability, in that sense, may 
admit of a little doubt. Emerson is effective for 
Dusohiof ; Alcott is as harmless as a rabbit, which 
can do nothing but devour ull it can contrive to get 
hold of. Is it to be wondered at that Emerson 
should sueoeod inn contest for supremacy over Bed- 
lam with such a man as his chief rival f Tho su- 
perior insanity of Alcott was as the handful of this- 
tle-down— as the small dust of the balance— when 
weighed against the worldly, solid qualifications 
of Emers:)n„by men who affect to despise all solid 
things, except their own' heads, and that of their 
chief. 

Emerson has long bolieved himself to be the 
greatost man in the world, and is, therefore, jea I -. 
ous of all respect or admiration that is paid to' 
Others, be they living or dead. Mr. Wobstor bo- 
ing a great man, and but recently doad, is natu- 
rally an object of strong aversion to the philosophor 
of Conoord, and must bo made to pay the penalty 
of having occasionally stood botwoon him and tlio 
sun. Emerson's followers aro acoustomod to call 
him ' tho modern Plato' ; and if being as hopeloss- 
ly wedded to ridiculous fallacios as ever was the 
immortal Athenian, can give a man any right to 
that title, Emerson's right must be beyond all pos- 
sible dispute. But it seems to us that he rosem- 
bles rather Diogenes than Plato. He is hotter at 
snarling than at reasoning. There is more of the 
our in him than of the attic bee. lie is more at 
home in the cask than in the grove. The cynio 
school would more readily own him than the 
academy.' lie has the bull-dog's disposition to 
tear the remains, of the dead, and not that gentle 
feeling, commended alike by philosophy and sen- 
timent, which ever respects the repose of the grave. 
That such a man, under the influence of envy, and 
■peaking the sense, — or want of it,— -of the sect 
over which he presides, should assail- Mr. Web- 
ster, is the most natural of all things. -That out 
of ten thousand subjects for a lecture, he should 
have hit upon the only one that he ought to have 
most avoided, is as much in the rogular order of 
things, aa it would have been out of ordor in the 
ease of every other man of equal eminence in the 
country. The large space that Webster fills in 
the world's estimation, and whioh must be increas- 
ed as tho mists and fogs of prejudice shall clear 
away, and loave the greatost of modern American 
reputations to stand in the cloar light of truth, the 
medium most proper to sot forth its most admira- 
ble proportions, — is a personal offence to Emerson, 
and he rosonts it accordingly. What business had 
Daniel Webster to live in the same ago with Em- 
erson? Poricles went out of tho world about the 
same time that Plato was born, and Mr. Webster 
should have done the samo thing for the advantage 
of Emerson. Having neglected so to' do, his repu- 
tation hat become the prey of the (very) ' modern 
Plato,' and admirers must make up their mind* 
to suffer under the infliction with as inuoh philos- 
ophy aa they can muster. It may be some conso- 
lation for them to bear in mind, that the acts and 
writings of Webster will remain to guide states- 
men, and to instruct tho pooplo, and to excite the 
admiration and applause of scholars, when ull that 
■hull be left of Emerson will be of us much one to 
mankind as a collection «*f Etruscan inscriptions. 

The Liberator . Boston, 
Friday, 4-14-54. 



84 

From the New Bedford 8Und»rd 
R WALDO EMERSON ON FRANCE. 






3d .o 



The following is the report of a leoture 
reoently delivered by Mr Emerson in New Bod- 
ford: — Nature, said Mr. Emerson, has not 
ohosen to pot the best wine into one jar. It 
is plaoed in many vessels. We must search 
through a city to find all the faculties that 
constitute a man. A French writer has said 
that it takes one thousand seven hundred or 
one thousand oight hundred men to make a 
complete man. The sea educates one.olaas, 
the mountain one, Europe one and America 
another, the whole constituting the symmetry 
of the raoe, and the result is a secured soul. 

He should observe the different members of 
this mundane body and see what offices are 
served by them, and particularly by France. 
Paris is France. All tho rest of the country 
is but Paris on a emallor soale, an imitation. 
The English built London for England. France 
constructed Paris for the world. In Paris tho 
buildings are more grand and national than 
in London. Every species of amusement ex- 
ists there. Twelve thousand students resort 
there annually to attend the public lectures 
on soientifio subjects. The city is filled with 
the treasures of art. The people are lively 
and chatting They are easy in conversation 
and agreeable in their manners. Paris is to 
the foreigner what London is to the Londonor. 
Everything attractive centres there. The 
people possess a high military character, and 
on parade it is as dtffioult to determine their 
social position, as it is to penetrate their 
beards. All receive a military education. 
The dancing-master comes to you from his 
fenoing lessons. The lively tone of the French 
journals is remarkable. The reading-rooms 
are extensive and fitted up with great taste 
and elegance. The mathematical- clearness 
of tho language causes it to be universally 
spoken. The French are a nation that talk 
more than they think, but there is a prosely- 
ting force in thoir conversation , that oaptivate* 
and attracts the mind of the listener. 

The lecturer gave a description of tho Pa- 
risian clubs, one of whioh he attended. A 
labouring man was declaiming with terrible 
foroe. " Why," said he " do the rioh fear that 
we, shall destroy their property. ' We shall do 
no auoh thing, for we expeot that it will toon 
be ours ! " 

All Europe is a nark for the popular French 
romancers, in whioh they can meet their 
friends. In any European oountry they are 
well known, so extensive is the circulation of 
their works. The universality of the French 
language is a capital secret of the power of 
their books. Said a distinguished statesman, 
a book written in French is a declaration of 
war to all Europe. The nation is a vast 
propagandist. They ignore all things elso 
Dot themselves. France is always foremost 
in the raoe. Those of Teutonio blood assume 
to consider it a serious misfortune to have 
been born a Frenohnan, and that the latter 
pays for his winning address by a smaller 
scale of faculties. He would endeavour to be 
impartial, and should draw bis witnesses con- 
cerning the Frenoh, from themselves. 

They occupy one of the fairest territories in 
the world, and they have spared no effort* to 
make it attractive We visit Italy for its an- 
tiquities — Franoo for the present and the 
new. Tbey have a clear intellect, and make 
the most of what they have. Everybody ha* 



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1854 

porUnt affair if forgotten, and the great tido 
■weeps on unmindful of the past. Madame 
de Stael says that " Paris must have something 
new every month, to captivate the nation." 

France is the empire of bagatelle. Its idea 
is amusement. Its pleasures are all refined, 
and are made the most of. Mirabeau re- 
marked with his last words:— "Oh, light- 
headed, thrioe lightheaded nation !'! As an 
illostration of their giddiness, when the allied 
armies oaptured Pans, the citizens forgot in a 
few hours their defeat, in the splendour of the 
show. The women ore graceful and beauti- 
ful, but thy control of a French Cupid is never 
longer than a few days at most The hero is 
he who invites the spectre that haunts him, 
to drink wine with him. French life wants 
veracity; still, underlying all this levity, 
there is muoh of good in .the French obarao- 
ter. Nature has scattered generous and beau- 
tiful souls among them— Fenelon, Montes- 
quieu, Pa«oal ; and noble and beautiful wo- 
men, who have made France the eentre of let- 
ters. The sense they stive to lore is a bar to 
their civilisation. They should cultivate 
sterner and haughtier virtues. While the 
English march forward ste adi l y and with 
severe brows, to freedom, the French ran 
laughingly away. 

The Home Journal , 

N.Y., Sat., 4-15-54. 



THE LIBERATE ft. 

SLAVERY IN MASSACHUSETTS. 

AN ADDRESS, 

Delivered at the Anti-Havery Celebration at Fram- 

ingham, July 4ik, 1854, 

Br Hxnrt D. Tborkau, or Concord, (Mass.) 

I lately attended a meeting of the citiiens of Concord, 
expecting, a* one among many, tospeakon the subject of 
slavery in Massachusetts; but I was surprised and dis- 
appointed to find that what had oalled my townsmen 
together was the destiny of Nebraska, and not of Massa- 
chusetts, and that what I hud to gay would be entirely out 
of order. I had thought that the house was on fire, and 
not the prairie ; but though several of the citizens of 
Massachusetts arc now in prison for attempting to res- 
cue a slave from her own clutches, not one of the speak- 
ers at that meeting expressed regret for it, not one 
even referred to it. It was only the disposition of some 
wild lands a thousand miles off, which appeared to con- 
cern them. The inhabitants of Concord are not pre- 
pared to stand by one of their own bridges, but talk 
only of taking up a position on the highlands beyond 
the Yellowstone river. Our Buttricks, and Davises, 
and Hosmers are retreating thither, and I fear that 
they will have no Lexington Common between them and 
the enemy. There is not one slave in Nebrnska ; there 
are peijmps a million slaves in Massachusetts, 
who have been, bred in the school of 
L and always to face the facts. Their 
sum and make-shifts, merely, 
of settlement indefinitely, and m 
the debt accumulates. Though the Fugitive Slave Law 
had aot been the subject of discussion on that occasion, 
it was at length faintly resolved by my townsmen, at 
an adjourned meeting, as I learn, that the compromise 
compact of 1820 having been repudiated by one of the 





85 

parties, ' Therefore, ... the Fugitive Slave Law 
must be repealed.' But this is not the reason why an 
iniquitous law should be repealed. The fact 'which the 
politician faces is merely, that there is leas honor 
among thieve* than was supposed, and not the fact that 
they are thieves. 

' As I had do opportunity to express my thoughts at 
that meeting, will you allow me to do so here i 

Again it happens that ths Boston Court House is full 
of armed men, holding prisoner and trying a man, to 
Bnd out if be is not really a slave. Does any one 
think that Justice or God awaits Mr. Loring's decision ? 
For him to sit there deciding still, when this question 
Is already decided from eternity to eternity, and the 
unlettered slave himself, and the multitude around, 
have long since heard and assented to the decision, is 
simply to make himself ridiculous. We may be tempt- 
ed to ask from whom he received his commission, and 
who he Is that received it ; what novel sta|Oin*«pe 
obav^and what precedents are to him of 
ffl^He arbiter's very existence is an imp 
fH Mt ask him to make up his mind, bat 

•fl Hack. 



1854 




JKtew to 

Jhe cresnNbii 




to hear the voice of a Governor, Comr 
the forces of Massachusetts. I hea/e^nifj 
.the creTPbg of crickets and the hum of insects whVtr 
now fill the summer air. The Governor's exploit is to 
review the troops on muster days. I have seen him on 
horseback, with his hat off, listening to a chaplain's 
prayer. It chances that is all I have ever seen of a 
Governor. I think that I could manage to get along 
without one. If he is not of the least use to prevent 
my being kidnapped, pray of what important use is he 
likely to he to me? When freedom is most endanger- 
ed, he dwells in the deepest obscurity. A distinguished 
clergyman told me that he chose the profession of a 
clergyman, because it afforded the most leisure for lite- 
rary pursuits. I would recommend to him the profes- 
sion of a Governor. 

Three years ago, also, when the Simm's tragedy was 
acted, I said to myself, there is such an officer, if not 
such a man, as the Governor of Massachusetts, — what 
has he been about the last fortnight ? Has he had as 
much as he could do to keep on the fence during this 
moral earthquake ? It seemed to me that no keener 
satire coukl have been aimed at, no more cutting insult 
have been offered to that man , than just what happen- 
ed — tho absence of all inquiry after him in that crisis. 
The worst and the most I chance to know of him is, 
that he did not improve that opportunity to make him- 
self known, and worthily known. He could at least 
have reeigned himself into fame. It appeared to be 
faaaatten thai there was such a man, or such an office. 
Kaw'doubt he wm endeavoring to fill the gubernato- 
rial chair all the while. He was no Governor p/ s)ir>* 
did not govern me. 
it at last, in the present case, the Governor mm 
leard from. After he and the United States Govf*fft> 
ment had perfectly succeeded in robbing a poor inno- 
cent black man of his liberty for life, and, as far ao 
they could, of his Creator's likeness in his breast, he 
made a speech to his accomplices, at a congratulatory 
supper ! 

I have read a recent law of this State, making it pe- 
aal for * any officer of the Commonwealth ' to ' detain, 
or aid in the . . . detection,' any where within its 
limits, 'of any person, for the reason that he is claimed 
aa a fugitive slave.' Also, it waa a matter of notoriety 
that a writ of replevin to take the fugitive oat of the 




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1854 

These very nights, I heard the eouiul of a drum in 
our streets. There were men training still ; and for 
what ! I could with an effort pardon the cockerels of 
Concord for crowing still, for they, perchance, had not 
been beaten that morning ; but I could not excuye this 
rub-a-dub of the 'trainers.' The slave was carried 
back by exactly sach as these, i. e., by the soldier, of 
whom the best you can say in this connection is, that 
he is a fool made conspicuous by a painted coat. 

Three years ago, also, just a week after the authori- 
ties" of 'Jftaton assembled to carry back a perfectly in- 
noMU Wan, and one whom they knew to hsjfitswcpTtt. 
int&~ slavery, the inhabitants of Concord caused tin 
bells to be rune and the cannons to be fired , to cele- 
brate their liberty— *nd the courage end love of-tfberty 
oftftet* ancestors who fought at the bridge. {Us if 
<aotrth*Si'millioni had fought for the rightTo* b« ; free 
themselves, but to hold in slavery three million* others. 
Now-a-dayt, men wear a fool's cap, and oall it a liberty 
oap. I do not know but there are some, who, if they 
were tied to a whipping-poet, and could get but one 
hand free, would use it to ring the bells and fire the 
oannons, to celebrate thtir liberty. So some of my 
townsmen took the liberty to ring and fire ; that was 
the extent of their freedom ; and when the sound of the 
bells died away, their liberty died away also ; when the 
powder was all expended, their liberty went off with the 
smoke. 

The joke oould be no broader, if the inmate* of the 
prisons were to subscribe for all the powder to be 
used in such salutes, and hire the jailor* to do the 
firing and ringing for them, while they enjoyed it 
through the grating. 

This is what I thought about my neighbor*. 

Every humane and Intelligent inhabitant of Concord, 
when he or she heard those bell* and those oannons, 
thought not with pride of the event* of the 19th of 
April, 1776. but with shame of the event* of the 12th 
of April, 1861. But now we have half buried that 
old (ham* under a new one. 

. -^eajsaohusetts sat waiting Mr. Loring's decision, as 
rf jpfc uld in any way afloat her own crimioalif& tfes 
OxwRe, the most conspicuous and fatal orime ofjfflywleB 
permitting him to be the umpire In suoh • oltaei • It 
was really the trial of Massachusetts. Every moment 
ihJcflke hesitated to set this man free— every moment 
^HuBtMew hesitates to atone for her crime, she ie 
cdTrrWBsJJV The Commissioner on her case is God; Dot 
Edward 0. Ood, but simple God. 

I wish my countrymen to consider, that whatever the 
human law may be, neither an individual nor a nation 
can ever commit the least act of injustice against the 
obscurest individual, without having to pay the penalty 
for it. A government which deliberately enacts injus- 
tice, and persists in it, will at length ever become the 
laughing-stock of the world. 

Much has been said about American slavery, but I 
think that we do not even yet realise what slavery is. 
If I were seriously to propose to Congress to make man- 
kind into sausages, [ have uo doubt that most of the 
members would smile at my proposition, and if any be- 
lieved me to be in earnest, they would think that I pro- 
posed something much worse than Congress had ever 
done. But if any of them will tell me that to make a 
man into a sausage would be much worse,— would be 
any worse, than to make him into a slave, — than it 
was to enact the Fugitive Slave Law, I will accuse him 
of foolishness, of intellectual incapacity, of making a 
distinction without a difference. The one is just as rea- 
sonable a proposition as the other. 




86 

I hear a good deal said about trampling this law 
under foot. Why, one need not go out of his way to do 
L This law rises not to the level of the head or fhe 
its natural habitat is in the dirt. 
, and has its life only in the dust ancPfci' 
fevel with the feet, and he who walks with freedom?Kd 
does not with Hindoo mercy avoid treading on every 
venomous reptile, will inevitably tread on it, and so 
trample it under foot, — and VVebeter, its maker, with 
it, like the dirt-bug and its ball. 

Recent events will be valuable as a criticism on the 
administration of justioe in our midst, or, rather, as 
showing what are. the true resources of justice in any 
community. It has come to this, that the friends of 
liberty, the friends of the slave, have shuddered when 
they have understood that his fate was lefi to the legal 
tribunals of the country to be decided. Free men have 
no faith that justice will be awarded in such a case; the 
judge may decide this way or that ; it i* a kind of acci- 
dent, at best. It is evident that he ia not a competent 
authority in so important a case. It is no time, then, 
to be judging aooording to his precedents, hut to estah- 
liah a precedent for the future. I would much rather 
trust to the sentiment of the people. In their vote, you 
would get something of some value, at least, however 
•mall ; but, in the other case, only the trammelled judg- 
ment of an individual, of no significance, be it which 
way it might. 

It is to some extent fatal to the courts, when the peo- 
ple are compelled to go behind them. I do not wish to 
believe that the courts were made for fair weather, and 
for very civil oases merely,— but think of leaving it to 
any court in the land to decide whether more than 
three millions or people, in this ease, a sixth part of a 
nation, have a right to be freemen or not ! But it.bns 
been left to the court* of juttiee, so-called— to the* 
BjflJ&e Court of the land— and. as you all kno< 
tsfl^a/jto authority hut the Constitution, it hi 
tflfJkAe three millions are, and shall continue^ 

Kuch judge* a* these are merely the insj 
ock and murderer's tools, to tell him 
o working oi*Jer or not, and there they'Aie! 
responsibility erMs. There was a prior case 
on the docket, which they, as judges appointed by God, 
had no right to skip; which having been jfctly settled, 
they woulettkave been saved from this humiliation. It 
was the case of the mardcrer himself. 

The law will never make men free ; it is men who 
have gwt to slake the law free. They are the lovers of 
law and order, who observe the law when the govern- 
ment break* it. 

Among human beings, the judge whose words seal the 
fare of a seen furthest into eternity, is not he who 
sssrely pronounces the verdict of the law, but he, who- 
ever he may be. who, from a love of truth, and unpre- 
judiced by any custom or enactment of men, utters a 
true opinion or tenttnet concerning him. He it is that 
itnUncts him. Whoever has discerned truth, has re- 
ceived hie commission from a higher source than the 
chiefest justice in the world, who can discern only law. 
He finds himself constituted judge of the judge. — 
Strange that it should be necessary to state such simple 
truths. 

I am more and more convinced that, with reference to 
any public question, it is more important to know what 
the country thinks of it, than what the city thinks. 
The city does not think much. On any moral ques- 
tion , I would rather have the opinion of Boxboro* than of 
Boston and New York put together. When the former 
speaks, I Peel as if somebody had spoken, as if human- 



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1854 

fete Bible which we rend every morning nnrijpp»ry nt- 
t0M|#3>. standing and lilting, riding and walking. It 
kMKV which every man curries in hie pocket, wrhteh 
HwSilejBVery table and counter, nnd which the m-.ril, 
and thousand* of missionaries, are continually di«pens- 



87 

Tafids nf humanity, hut while their brothers and sisters 
are being scourged and hung for loving liberty, while 

1 might here insert all tint si-ivory implies! mid is, 

it is the mismanagement of wood u Till iron ami •■tone 

and gold which concerns them. Do what you will, •> 
ing. It is, in short, the only book which America Government ! witli my wife nnd children, my mother 
has printed, and which America reads. So wide is its and brother, my father and sister, I will obey your 
influence. Tbe editor is a preacher whom you volunta- commands to the letter. It will indeed grieve me if 
rily support. Your tax is commonly one cent daily, you hurt them, if you deliver them to overseers to be 
and it costs nothing for pew hire. But how many of hunted bv hounds or to be whipped to death ; but nev- 
these preachers preach the truth ? I repeat the testi- ertheless, I will peaceably pursue my chosen calling on 
mony of many an intelligent foreigner, as well ns my this fair earth, until perchance, one day, when I have 
own convictions, when I sny, that probably no country put on mourning for them dead, I shall have persuaded 
was ever ruled by so mean a class of tyrants as, with you to relent. Such is the attitude, such are the words 
a few noble exceptions, are the editors of the periodical of Massachusetts. 

press in thii country. And as they live and rule only Rather than do thus, I need not sny what match I 
by their servility, and appealing to the worst, and not would touch, what system endeavor to blow up, — but as 
the better nature of man, the people who read them are I love my life, I would «ide with the light, and let the 



1854 



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in the condition of the dog that teturns to his vomit. 

The Lihtrator and the Coin won irfalth were the only 
papers in Boston, as far ns I know, which made them- 
selves heard in condemnation of the cowardice and 
meanness of the authorities of that city, as exhibited in 



dark earth roll from under me, calling my mother nnd 
my brother to follow. 

I would remind my countrymen, that they are to he 
men first, and Americans only at a late and convenient 
hour. No matter how valuable law may be to protect 



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Did it not act its part well — serve its master faithfully ? 
How could it have gone lower on its belly ? How can 
a man stoop lower than he is low ? do more than put 
his extremities in the place of the head he has > than 



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'51. The other journals, almost without exception, by your property, even to keep soul and body together, if 

their manner of referring to and speaking of the Fugi- it do not keep you nnd humanity together, 
live Slave Law, nnd the carrying back of the slave I am sorry to say, that I doubt if there is a judge in 

Sitnms, insulted the common sense of the country, at Massachusetts who is prepared to resign his office, nnd 

least. And, for the most part, they did this, one would get his living innocently, whenever it is required of him 

say, because they thought so to secure the approbation to pass sentence under a lnw which is merely contrary 

of their patrons, not being aware that a sounder senli- *J| mk law of God. I am compelled to see that ^UtJJfMt 

nient prevailed to any extent in the heart of t^ly^ Com- ""flWrnseKes, or rather, are by character, in this rprpett, 

ealth. I nm told that some of them have improv- exactly on a level with the marine who dischargfi^iis 

te ; but they nro still eminently time-serving, musket in any direction he is ordered to. They are just 

S»(jfi is the character they have won. as much tools and as little men. Certainly, they nre 

But, thank fortune, this preacher can be even more not the more to be respected, because their master en- 

easily retched by the weapons of the reformer than slaves their understandings and consciences, instead of 

could the recreant priest. The free men of New Eng- their bodies. 

land have only to refrain from purchasing and read- The judges and lawyers,— simply as such, I mean, — 

ing these sheets, have only to withhold their cents, to ftn d all men of expediency, try this case by a very low 

kill a score of them at once. One whom I respect told and incompetent standard. They consider, not whether 

me that he purchased Mitchell's Citizen in the cars, the Fugitive Slave Law is right, but whether it is what 

nnd then threw it out the window. But would not his they call conttituHonnl. Is virtue constitutional, or 

contempt have been more fatally expressed, if he had rice ? Is equity constitutional, or iniquity ? In im- 

not bought it? portant moral and vital questions like this, it is ju9t ns 

Are they Americans ? are they New Englanders ? are impertinent to ask whether a law is constitutional or 

they inhabitants of Lexington, and Concord, and Fra- not, as to ask whether it is profitable or not. They 

mingham, who read and support the Boston Post, Mail, persist in being the servants of the worst of men, and 

Journal, Adttrtiw, Courier, and Timtt 1 Are these not the servants of humanity. The question is not 

the Flags of our Union ? I am not a newspaper reader, whether you or your grandfather, seventy years ago, 

and may omit to name the worst. did not enter into an agreement to serve the devil, and 

Could slavery suggest a more complete servility than that service is not accordingly now due ; but whether 

some of these journals exhibit? Is there any dust you will not now, for once and at last, serve God, — in 

which their conduct does not lick, nnd make fouler spite of your own past recreanoy, or that of your nn- 

still with its slime ? I do not know whether the Boston e»tor, — by obeying that eternal and only just Consti- 

Htrnld is still in existence, but I remember to have tdtion, whioh He, and not any Jefferson or Adams, has 

seen it about the streets when Simms was carried off. written in your being. 



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The amount of it is, if the mojnetfty vote the devil to 
be God, tbe minority will live and behave accordingly, 
trusting that some time or other, by some Speaker's 
casting vote, perhaps, they may reinstate God. This is 



make his *ead hie lower extremity ? When I have tha n j g hest principle I can get out of or invent f<>f*«U \ 

bore. Thee* men act as if they believed tliatljef 5 



taken np thie paper with my ouffis turned up, I have 
heard the gargling of the sewer through every column 
I have felt that I was handling a paper picked 
gutters, a leaf from the gospel of tbi 

tse, the groggery and the brothel, han 

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or otoosing that course which offers the slights* (bs'tn- 

The majority ot the men of the North, and of the cHeito the feet, that is, a down-hill one. But THe* is 

an I East, and West, nre not men of prinej(j»le. no such thing as accomplishing a righteous reform by 

vote, they do not send men to Congre-s on «r- the use of ' expediency.' There is no such thing ns 



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1854 

para>ively silent about the bravernnd more disinterest- 
edly heroic attack on the Boston Court-House, simply 
because it was unsuccessful ! 

Covered with disgrace, the State has sat down coolly 
to try for their lives and liberties the men who attempt- 
ed to do its duty for it. And this is called justice ! 
They who have shown that they can behave particularly 
well may perchance be put under bonds for their good 
behavior. They whom truth requires at present to 
plead guilty, are 67 all the inhabitants of the State, 
preeminently innocent. While the Governor, and the 
Mayor, and countless officers of the Commonwealth, are 
at large, the champions of lilerty are imprisoned. 

Only tbey are guiltless, who commit the crime of con- 
tempt of such a Court. It behoves every man to see 
that his influence is on the side of justice, and let the 
courts make their own characters. My sympathies in 
this case are wholly with the accused, and wholly 
against the accusers and their judges. Justice is eweot 
and musical ; but Injustice is harsh and discordant. 
The judos still sits grinding at his organ, but it yields 
no music, and we hear only the sound of the handle. 
He believe* that all the music resides in the handle, and 
theamsvd toss him their coppers the same uM^. 
fpgRflMoppoe* that thai Massachusetts wkjMjNow 
wJPpRtese things, — wbioh hesitates to crovrAeStfmen, 
«pue of whose lawyers, Ma even judges, perchance, 
m» driven to lake refuge in some poor quibble, tin 
•say not wholly outrage their instinctive sense 
*■<"• — do you suppose that she is any thing but base 
•od servile ? that she is the champion of liberty > 

Show me s free State, and a court truly of justice, 
And I will fight for them, if need be ; but show me 
Massachusetts, and I refuse ber my allegiance, and ex- 
press contempt for her courts. 

The effect of a good government is to make life more 



of j-S 



88 

cover all at once that your villa, with all its contents, is 
located in hell, and tbUt the justice of the peace has a 
cloven foot and a forked tail— do not these things sud- 
denly ksse their value in your eyes r 

I fcst that, to sow* extent, the State has fatally in- 
terfered in my lawful business. It has not only inter- 
rwpted me In my pa ma g e through Court street en 
errands of trade, bat it has interrupted ms and every 
ate* cm hie onward and upward path, en which he had 
tiestss soon te leave Court street far behind. What 
right had it to remind me of Court street t I have 
foond that hollow which even I had relied on for solid. 

I ass surprised to see men going about their busi- 
ness as If nothing had happened. I say to myself— 
Unfortanstss t they have not heard the news. I am 
that the man whom I just met on horsetMk 
■nest to overtake his newly-bought '•wj 
ing away — since »11 property Is Insecure — andMf 

they do not run away again, they mny be taken away 
from him when begets them. Fool ! does he not'lbcw 
vjSat his seed-corn is worth less this year — that all W*- 
neikcent harvests fail as you approach the empire of hell ' 
No prudent man will build a store-house under these 
circumstances, or engage in any peaceful enterprise 
which requires a long time to accomplish. Art is as 
long as ever, but life is more interrupted and lees avail 
able for a man's proper pursuits. It is not an era of 
repose. We have used up all our inherited freedom. 
It we would save our lives, we must Aght for them. 

I walk toward one of our ponds, but what signifies 
the beauty of nature when men are base ? We walk to 
lakes to see our serenity reflected in them; when we are 
not serene, we go not to them. Who can l>e serene in 
country where both the rulers and the ruled nre with- 



1854 



ng a' 



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- ;.<■'.. 



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■a ^ 






Wish rn vii w nl W'itliiiuis 



CitU 



<l Hi/in biiiUin: 



out principle ? 



valuable,— of a bad one, to make it less valuable. We i P oi, » m 7 w * lk - 



The remembrance of my country' 
My thoughts are murder to the State, 



can afford that railroad, and all other merely material 
stock, 'should lose some of its value, for that only com- 
pels us to live more simply and economically; but sup- 
pose that the value of life itself should be diminished ! 
How can we make a> less demand on man and nature, 
how live more eoonomioally in respect to virtue and all 
noble qualities, than we do ? I have lived for the last 
month, — and I think that every man in Massachusetts 
capable of the sentiment of patriotism must have had a 
similar experience, — with the sense of having suffered 
a vast and indefinite loss. I did not know at first what 
ailed me. At last it occurred to me that what I had 
lost was a country. I had never respected the Govern- 
ment near to whioh I bad lived, but I had foolishly 
thought thatl might manage to live here, minding my 
private affairs, and forget it. For my part, my old and 
worthiest pursuits have lost I cannot say how much of 
their attraction, and I feel that my investment in life 
JmmjJs worth many per cent, less since Mossachusesa) 
I*ls™Miberately sent back an innocent man, Ambuss} 
Burns, to slavery. I dwelt before, perhaps, in the^l- 
lusion that my life passed somewhere only brtattn hea- 
ven and bell, but now I cannot persuade myself that I 
do not dwell wholly vrilkin bell. The site or that polit- 
ical organisation called Massachusetts is to me morally 
covered with volcanic scoria and cinders, ruch as Milton 
describe* in the infernal regions. If there i* any hell 
more unprincipled than onr rulers, and we, the ruled, 
I feel curious to see it. Life itself being worth less, 
all things with it, which minister to it, are worth less. 
Suppose you have a small library, with pictures to 
adorn the walla a garden laid out around— and con- 
template scientific and literary pursuits, to., and dis- 



and involuntarily go plotting against her. 

But^jt chanced the other day that I secured a white 
water-liry, and a season I had waited for had arrived. 
It is the emblem of purity. It bursts up so pure and 
fair to the eye, and so sweet to the scent, as if to show 
us what purity and sweetness reside in, and can be ex- 
tracted from, the slime and muck of earth. I think I 
have plucked the first one that has opened for a mile. What 
confirmation of our hopes is in the fragrance of this 
flower ! I shall not so soon despair of the world for it, 
notwithstanding slavery, and the cowardice and want 
of principle of Northern men. It suggests what kind 
of law* have prevailed longest and widest, and still 
prevail, and that the time may come when man's deeds 
may smell as sweet. Such is the odor which the plant 
emit*. If Natore-can compound this fragrance still an- 
nually, I shall believe ber still young and full of vig- 
or, her integrity and genius unimpaired, and that there 
is virtue even in man, too, who is fitted to perceive and 
love it. It reminds roe that Nature has been partner 
to no Missouri Compromise. I scent no compromise in 
the fragrance of the water-lily. It is not a JS'ymphcta 
Douglatsii. In it, the sweet, and pure, and inno- 
cent, are wholly sundered from the obscene and bale- 
ful. I do not scent in this the time-serving irresolution 
of a Massachusetts Governor, nor of a Boston Mayor 
So behave that the odor of your actions mny enhance 
the general sweetness of the atmosphere, that when we 
behold or scent a flotrer, we may not be reminded how 
inconsistent your deeds aro with it; for all odor is but 
one form of advertisement of a moral quality, and 
if fair actions had not hern performed, the lily would 
not smell tweet. The foul slime stands for the sloth and 



•S ■" "9 » 



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1854 
T1CKNOR * FIELDS, 

■ WILL PUBLISH 

WALDEN' 

or, lipr tN m mm. 

-BY— 
HKITRT D. THOREAV. 



e?T " WHEI 1 *m< Ik* falifftrlaf p«-«-, or ratli-r 
the bulk of them, I lived alotw, in the wood*, ■ mile from 
any neighbor, In ■ home which I had bwllt Mrnlf, on tin 
shore of Walden Toad, In Concord, MumchaMtu, and 
esxiMd njy living by Um labor «t amy baadi omly." 

cortiiti: 



K.t'ONOMY. 

WIIKKK I LIVED. AND 

VVHAt I MVKDKOU, 
KKAIMN'li, 
HtM'NOS, 
MOI.ITi;i>K, 
VISITORS, 
I UK UKANKIKLD, 
I UK YlLLAt.t, 



THE lt)NUN. 
HAKEk FA KM, 
HIWUKH LAWS, 
UKITK NICK. II IW IRS, 
HOUSK-WAKMINU. 
POKMKK IMlAltlTANTH, 
WINTKK VIMITOKH. 
THE POMU IN WINTUt, 
Bl'lUXU, 
CONCLUSION. 
(1 -, - 1 hi* rtrlkto-l- orljrtBftl and bit-*****-.-; Book will 
be publlalwtl in ooa volume, 10 no, la Cloth, at 91. 



TjiHniHiitK Clapp ufost Emkunox. In n letter 
o tho New-OrlcHiiH Picayune, Mr. Cl«pi> has tho 
following upon Ralph Waldo Eineraon : — 

My chief object in risiting Williamstown was to 
hear ltnlpli Waldo Emrrwon's address to the 
Litcrarv Societies. It was a production of uncom- 
mon merit and irreat originality. Instead of using 
far-fetched, obscure, affected and transcndcntul 
phriseologv, his Btylo was ■wonderfully simple, 
strong, intense, amnoth, perspicuous and elegant. 
No composition ever displayed a mere, correct and 
Uclicato taste. Ho understand* perfectly tlio po w • 
er andheauty of the English language. I expect- 
ed to hear hi in enunciate sentences constructed 
with Ciceronian tullness, ami aiming by polysylla- 
bic terms, accumulated epithets, and swelling ex- 
pressions to soar above the vulgar and excite 
vague, misty, undetermined ideas oi the vast, ethe- 
real, and magnificent. Uut his periods were short, 
pithy, sharp, epigrammatic, free from tho incum- 
brance of unmeaning, superfluous words ; definite, 
hold, glowing, and poured forth with the fullness 
it. Yet his manner of 
gentle, placid and calm, 
are clear and melodious. 
Tho expressions of his countenance are divinely 
soft, sweet, mild, aerene, soothing and benevolent, 
exciting in the spectator a sensation of delight, 
roscmbling that awakened by tho contemplation 
of beautiful object* in tho natural world, though 
of a much more spiritual and exalted nature. No 
person can bear Mr. Emerson speak or converse 
without feeling that his soul is replete with wisdom, 
learning, candor, sensibility, generous sentiments, 
and a sublime philanthropy. 

As to the subject of his discourse, it consisted of 
easy, natural, unaffected Rnd immethodical ideas on 
the importance of a more elevated standard of ed- 
ucation in our republic. " We have colleges 
enough," said he, " and considering our youth, 
well endowed; but our young men generally, as 
soon as they graduate, bid adieu to the muses, and 
are saaept around in the vortex of American poli- 
tics and trade, till they aink to be seen no more." 
lie told us that neither in the United States nor 
in England was any thing so highly prised as the 
" almighty dollar." Even the " brilliant, though 
•tiff) low Macaulay" could see no charms, but in 
the money-making, honor-craving, and utilitarian 
philosophy. " l<et the great and noblest minds 
among us present to tho public tho suhlimest 
niuugiiis, inventions or discoveries, ret they would 
be entirely unnoticed unless their principles could 
he connected with the purposes of practical utility. 



mini, glowing, film |n>ui< it 

AJlgL rapidity of a torrent 
spll^tinjj is singularly ge 
Thts 'tones of his voiee an 



89 

Itut the moment their glorious deeds are manu- 
factured into some labor-saving, tline-annihilatiiig 
machine, which will pay '.Ml, 50, or an 1(10 per cent., 
all the people exclaim it is the. rtiivr nf Gott. It is 
not the men of thought who are honored here, but 
the accumulators ot wealth." 1 never heard before 
such an impressive description of the value of 
knowledge. lie affirmed that one's power and 
glory are just in proportion to his clcRr, true and 
vivid perception of the real nature of thing-, 
physical, intellectual, moral and religious. Also, 
knowledge, according to his statement, is the only 
foil in which virtue can germinate and thrive. 
It is only the knowing part of creation that arc 
capable of real goodness. If men's knowledge 
were illimitable, they would lie invulnerable to 
the shnfth of Mn and corruption. Education is 
the only panacea for the evils of the present life. 
The views of this great man on religion have 
luen cither grossly misunderstood, or misrepre- 
sented, or both, perhaps. He is not an atheist, as 
many have asserted. I w as introduced t<» him, 
and favored with a deligllful conversation. lie 
holds that there is no liualily (lo u-c his own 
word) to anything with which we are acquainted. 
We know that there are finite thinkers. They 
will think on and on forever. There could nor lie 
finite thinking without infinite thinking. There 
could not be finite power, wisdom and love, with- 
out infinite pow'cr, wisdom and love. So lie rea- 
sons, "(jran'," (said Mr. E.) " that there cannot 
be mind without a brain, for anything wo know 
to the contrary, the soul alter the death of tin* 
body has the power of lorniing for itself another 
brain, ctheied, rolino I, and indestructible. There 
is no abyss of annihilation for anything true, good 
or beautiful in the boundless universe." Mr. E. 
is not an atheist, any moro than I 1 r. Chnnni.i. 
was. He is simply opposed to hypocrisy, cant, 
pretence, assumption, bigotry and humbug. How 
often have the greatest, most enlarged, and saint- 
ed philosophers, through ignorance or prejudice, 
been denounced by their cotcinporaries, whom 
posterity now admire, and will, hereafter, fore. • 
admire. "Time," says Cicero, "overthrows the 
illusions of opinion, and fashion ; hat establishes 
upon an immovable, everlasting basis the decisions 
of reason and nature. 

Yours, truly, T. Cl.vpp. 



Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Rov. Theodore Clapp, of Now Orleans, 
who has been sojourning for souio time in 
Massachusetts, writes home to the Picay- 
une concerning R. W. Emerson, one of New 
England's freest thinkers, not to say ec- 
centricities. He says : 

iMv chief object in visiting Williamstown 
was to hear Italph Waldo Emerson's ad- 
dress to the Literary Societies. It was a 
production of uncommon merit and great 
originality. Instead of using farfetched, 
oVcnrc, affected, and transcendental phras- 
eology, his stylo was wonderfully simple, 
strong, iuten.se, smooth, perspicuous and 
elegant. No composition ever displayed a 
more correct and delicate taste. He under- 
stands perfectly tho power and beauty of 
the English language. I expected to hear 
him enunciate sentences constructed with 
I'iccrouian fullness, and aiming by poly- 
.syllahlio terms, accumulated cpitcths, and 
swelling expressions, to soar abovo the vul- 
gar, and ox.tc vague, misty, undetermined 
ideas ot the vast, ethereal and maguilloent. 

But his periods were short, pitny, sharp, 
epigrammatic, froe from the incumbrance 
<it unmeaning, supcrliuous words ; deunite, 
bold, glowing, and . poured forth with the 



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of creation that ore capable of real gooduess. 
If men's knowledge were illimitable, they 
would bo invulnerable to the shafts' of sin 
and corruption. Education is the only 
panacea for the evils of the present life. 

The views of tins-great tuun on religion 
have been either grossly misunderstood, or 
misrepresented, or both, perhaps. He is 
not an atheist, as many have asserted. I 
was introduced to him, and favored with a 
delightful conversation. He holds that 
there is no finality (to use his own word) 
to any thing with which we are acquainted. 
We know that there are finite thinkers. 
Thej will think on and on forever. There 
could not bo finite thinking without inhnito 
thinking. I here oould not be finite power, 
wisdom and love, without infinite power, 
wisdom and lo*e. rfo bo reasons. "Grant," 
(said Mr. K.,) "that there cannot be a mind 
without a brain, for anything wo know to 
the contrary, tho soul, after the death of 
the bods, has the power of forming for it- 
self another brain, ctherial, refined and in- 
destructible. There is no abyss of annihi- 
lation for anything" true> good or beautiful 
in the boundless universe." 

Mr. E. is not an atheist any more than 
Dr. Channinz was. He is simply opposed 
to hypocrisy, cant, pretcnoc, assumption, 
bigotry and humbug. How often liavo the 
greatest, most enlarged, and t-aiuted philo- 
bophers, through ignoranco or prejudice, 
been denounced by their cotouiporarieu, 
whom posterity now admire. "Time," says 
Cicero, "overthrows the illusions of opinion, 
and fashion , but establishes upon- Mt im- 
moveable, everlasting basis the decision* 
of reason and nature." 

Pennsylvania Patriot . 

Harrisburg, 9-30-54. 




90 
VEOBTAKIAN CQH.VENTION. 

Among the oddities of the day may be notioed a Vege- 
tarian Convention, held at Philadelphia on the 80th of 
August. Gentlomen from varioue parts of the country 
were present. The objeot of the assembly seems to have 
been to oonvinoe the American people that so large an 
amount of nnimal food as is now need is neither necessa- 
ry nor healthful. Soma of the members have been prao- 
tioal vegetarians for more than thirty yeara, though not 
to the eatent of total abatlaeaea from all animal food till 
within a year past. They rejolee at their emanelpatlea 
from the thraldom of stimulating food and artificial 
drinks. 

They try to prove that animal food Is injurious to 
health, and that the nse of the flesh of animals, intoxi- 
cating liquors, tobacco, to. aro almong the eaosos of 
disease. 

The President of the Soolety, Dr. Alcott, of Massa- 
chusetts, in his annual address, presents some oorioas 
foots bearing upon the subjeet: 

" Vegetarianism it written, as it were, on the face of all 

things. It does not approach us through some back-yard 
or climb up somo other wuy, as If half ashamed of itself. 
It meets ua at our front doors, and stares us fully in the 
face. It brings us, too, welcome intelligence 

" Look at the firbt poge of Revelation ? What find we 
as the appointed food of man ? Are we poiuted to the 
corpses of the slain, and to a path thereto reekitg with 
blood ? Or are we kindly told of fruits and farinaceous 
seeds? It is true tbat Kuffon supposes that a diet exclu- 
sively vegetable would be insufficient for the perpetuity 
of the race; but the croator is wiser tL/an the creature. 

" Look at the first page, ss it were, of nature 1 What 
mean these trees of field and forest, loaded with their rich 
nutrient substances — the apple, pear, peaoh, orange, 
olive, date, palm, bread fruit, chestnut, walnut, &o.? What 
mean these loaded vines and shrubs T Are they intended 
to tantiliie us? Must wo deny ourselves their use, (ex- 
cept occasionally or clandestinely, after we have eaten 
enough of son.ethiBg else,) and glut ourselves, in the first 
place at leant, ou loungled carcases ? Must there be 
slaughter and blood before the being who was orginally 
created in the image of Ood oan eat a meal of victuals ? 

/' Look on tho first page in the history of our race, as 
regards health and disease. Who does not know that, as 
a whole, diseases multiply, becoming more malignant 
when acute and more severe when protracted and obronio, 
just in proportion as oil, blood, and other high-wrd*ught 
carbonaceous substances are freely used? For what is 
John Bull, with his beef and beer, but a mass of incipient 
putrefaction? One-fourth, if not even one-third, of all 
now bora in Great Britain Inherit scrofula; and dispep- 
eia and oonsumption are little more prol'fio of human 
suffering and premature death in Brother Jonathan's 
over-fed domain than in the very realms of John Bull 
himself. Take Franoe, on the contrary, where 20,000.000 
of people get no animal food but once a week, and how 
different the tendenoy, phyajoally! For, if they have 
not John Bull's giant frame, they have not, on the other 
band, his thiok blood, and swelled .glands, and physical 
deterioration. Light wines aud eoup, bad as they may 
be, are more easily got rid of than pork sausages, tuinoo- 
pies, and blood. The one class soon esoapes, driven out 
through the pores of the skin ; the other aids the decom- 
position of the charnel houee 1 

" And so the world over. Look ye for buoyancy, a 
long life, and a decent death ? Look for them in coun- 
tries essentially vegetarian. 

" We find, from the New York Weekly Tribune of July 
1st, 1864, that the number of slaughtered animals in that 
oity for the tix mouths next preceding was as follows, 
viz : Beeves 73,6(3 ; calves 48,613 ; sheep and lambs 
162,128; swine 114,766. 

•• This docs net, of course, determine the exact amount 
of flesh meat oonsumed in New York during tbat period, 
but most certainly does not exeeed it. A small part of 
the pork — though it it thought only a very small part — was 
salted, and a little, both of flesh and fish, carried to Ber- 
muda and elsewhere. But the fish, poultry, &o. udedare 



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value to obtain the same nutriment u if lio lived on corn. 
And this comparison holds good to nearly the same ex- 
tent in comparing vegetarian and earniverous article! 
generally. Whet a tremendous waste of sustooenc*, then, 
taking (he world together, does flesh-eating involve 1" ' 

The learned Dootor might have appealed to the inter- 
ests of men, If the prices of meat in his region bear any 
oomparison to the prices here. But our retreat from ani- 
mal to vegetable subsistence would yield very little ad- 
vantage in that respect, for the latter ia even dearer then 
the former. 

After the ditousslon and adoption of the resolutions, 
the banquet took plaee. There we* a bountiful supply of 
vegetables, oooked in almost every conceivable snaps. 
The bill of fare was as follows : 

First course : Vegetable soup, savory omelet, fried egg 
plant, baked potatues and mashed do., baked tweet do., 
Lima beans, groen corn, tomatoes, parsley eauee, plokled 
lemons, pickled beets, pickled marlines. Graham bread, 
white breed, iced water. 

Second course : Peeoh pies, cocoannt costards, ebMM 
eake, moulded prepared corn, moulded farina, moulded 
rioe, watermelon?. eanteloDes. peaches, applet, cream 
fruits. 

On the platform were see ted Professor WaiQBt, or Cam- 
den, (N. J.) aged 65 years, and a vegetarian for thirty, 
five years ; Mr. Chabltov , aged 88 years, vegetarian fat 
forty years ; Dr. Mcssbt, 74 years, vegetarian for twenty- 
one years ; and Rev. Mr. Mctom.*, 66 years, and a vege- 
tarian for forty-five years. 

Among the distinguished guests on the floor we noticed 
Dr. Games, of Bordentowo, N. J., Jo»atha« VYajonr, 
Profs. Whittakm and Clubs, of Washington. 

Among the toasts were the following : 

"The Memory of the Patriarchs, Prophet*, Apostlee, 
Philosophers, Physiologists, and Naturalists who have in 
peat eges of the world advooated, by precept and exam- 
pie, the return to Nature in the edoption by man of pure- 
ly fruit, farinaceous, and vegetable diet." 

" The Vegetarian Prinoiple, the baeie of individual, aa- 
cial, and political reform." 

Daily Nafl Intelligencer , 
Washington, D.C., 9-8-54. 



LeCTUfZlAJQ SVSTEr*%-LK£v&l 

How doctors dtff't, to bo sure I We were 
very much pleased ^not long since, . with an 
article in the New- York Time*, on the value of 
the Lecturing System, and the worth while it 
would bo to have a class of strong minds make 
it a separate profession— studying the art of 
condensing knowledge and presenting it to the 
unfatigt\ ot , sense of hearing in the shape of an 
hour le. ft 'ure. Wo wore about writing on the 
subject — to express our admiration and appre- 
ciation of such men as Giles, Emerson and 
Whipple, in this line — when out comes the In- 
dependent with a satire on the wholo system | 
We do noFat all agree with what the caustio 
writer puts forth, but thus he "walks into" 
it:— 

" Wo have also to inform you that tho business 
of lecturing has advanced with unprecedented ra- 
pidity, and now takes rank among our foremost 
civil, political, and social economlo institutions. 
But, as you are woll aware that, out of New- York, 
you are all what is vulgarly called groon-horns, in 
this, as in some other branches of human sagacity 
and progress, we are very ready to give you tho 
benefit of our superior facilities and advantages. 



91 

" We have the honour to advise you that we can 
command tho services, and furnish the post-offloe 
addresses, of the most distinguished gentlemen who 
can be expected to sorve, or are even worthy to ap- 
pear as lecturers, all over the country ; that to our 
columns, and ours only, all lyceums in swaddling- 
clothes, and also all prudent and knowing lecture- 
committees throughout tho country, wilr look .for 
advico, instruction and guidance, not only us to the 
individuals whom they should select, but likewise 
as to the course of subjects discussed, and the pro- 
per method of treatment. And inasmuch as it is 
not to bo supposed that literary associations out of 
New- York can have any original resources in the 
way of lecturers among themselves, we have 
thought fit to propound, and do herewith publish, 
a list of such lecturers as are to be had, and upon 
whom we place our imprimatur, as worthy to be 
beard, together with their post-offlco addressee, or 
present lurking-places, or whereabouts, appended. 
The following gentlemen are to be had, and the 
list may bo relied upon. If any of them have no, 
hitherto been considered 'men of mark,' their re 
putation as such will bo indisputable, now that tbe 
literary world behold their names in our columns. 

"Hon. Green Goosoberrry, Cabbago Farms, West- 
chester County, New- York. 

" Captain Aug. Blowhard, formerly of the Royal 
Navy, now United States Secret Service, Washing- 
ton. 

" Rev. Transcendental Stubbs, at present at the 
Gas Factory in Potter's Fields. 

" Rov. Obadiah Progressive, first Post-office be- 
yond tho last station of tbe Polar Railroad. 

" Rev. Antiphlogistic Flummery, at present with 
Ammiel Vopslie, at Huppirn, Muppim and Arcks. 

" Hon. Brobdignag Cucumber, last heard from at 
his country-soat near Holmes' Hole. 

"Professor Twaddle-and-Blatberum, Post-offloe 
address at Barnum's Museum. 

" Hon. and Rev. Anti-sectarian Grapple-em, office 
of the Board of Common School Education, No. 9 
No-particular-truth street, New- York. 

" Professor Crucible Confound-em, No. 10, fourth 
story, Kantian Laboratory. 

" Rev. Roar-and-Astonish-em, Reverberation 
Gallery, Verbiage Court, 38 Rotunda. . , 

" Rev. Blister-and-Bleed-em, now at tho Moun- 
tain Water-cure Retreat. 

" Rev. Comfort-and-Quiet-em, Theological Semi- 
nary at Blindman's Inn Fields. 

"Rev. Tickle-and-Tittor-em, No. 26 Sanctiflcation 
street, Amusement Comer. 

" Rev. Flourish-and-Flattor-em, at the Soft-soap 
Factory on Charles River. 

" Rev. Nehushtan Hardshell Sledgehammer, first 
President of the Primordial Granite Iconoclastos 
Society, Strauss' Buildings, Do Wette Place, Hegel 
street 

"Rev. Jeph. Lodebar Alls-well-that-ends-well, 
Secretary and Agent of the United Brothers' Ever- 
lasting Assurance Society, Amen, corner of Salva- 
tion Row. 

" Hon. Pumpkin Squash, first Underwriter of the 
same, Post-offlco at Wyeth's Lodge, a little off tho 
Celestial Railroad. 

" Israel Bombastes Bon-Ammi, Secretary of tho 
Honourable the Board of Underwriters for tho same, 
No. 136 Untempercd-Mortir-Daubers' street. 

" Rov. Adoniram Jones Greatheart, Inventor of 
the Modern Myth and Superstition Exterminator. 
Studio in Parker's Greywacke Block, Gehenna 
Court. 

" Rev. Jedediah Higginbottom, Discoverer of thb 
unity and personal Inspiration of tho Universe, and 
lecturer on tho some. At present on his travels to 
tho planet Venus. 

"Brother Naturfreihoit D reak- their- ban ds-from- 
us, Hermitage of the Pure, the true, and tho holy, 
low in the bosom of nature, No. 11. 

"Rev. Mrs. Antoinette Speak-her-mind, Cake- 
baker to the Queen of Heaven, 26 Jerusalem street 
Patbros, Duke's county. 



1854 





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Home Journal , N.Y. , 10-21-54, 



Tr ed«r ic * 

n'<iW«»; or, Zt/e in the Woqdt. By IIr^bt D 
Tuureac. Boston : Ticknor & Fiel-L?- 1S54. 



A YANKEE DIOGENES 



1854 
Putnam's Monthly Mag « t 
tS TV, pp. 443-448 

Oct., 1854. 



THE New England character is essen- 
tially anti-Diogenic; tlie Yankee is 
too -lirewd not to comprehend the ad- 
vantages of living in what we call the 
world; there are no bargains to be 
made in tlie desert, nobody to be taken 
advantage of in the wood?, while the 
dwellers in tubs and shanties have slender 
opportunities of bettering their condition 
by barter. When the New Englander 
leaves his home, it is not for the pleasure 
of living by himself; if he is migratory 
in his habits, it is not from his fondness 
for solitude, nor from any impatience he 
feels at living in a crowd. Where there 
are mo<t men, there is, generally, most 
money, and there is where the strongest 
attractions exist for the genuine New 
Englander. A Yankee Diogenes is a 
lusus, and we feel a peculiar interest in 
reading the account which an oddity of 
that kind gives of himself. The name of 
Thoreau has not a New England sound ; 
but we believe that the author of Waldcn 
is a genuine New Englander, and of 
New England antecedents and education. 
Although he plainly gives the reasons 
for publishing his book, at the outset, he 
does not clearly state the causes that led 
him to live the life of a hermit on the 
shore of Walden Pond. But we infer 
from his volume that his aim was the 
very remarkable one of trying to be 
something, while he lived upon nothing; 
in opposition to the general rule of 
striving to live upon something, while 
doing nothing. Mr. Thoreau probably 
tried the experiment long enough to test 
its success, and then fell back again into 
his normal condition. But he does not 
tell us that such was the case. He was 
happy enough to get back among the 
good people of Concord, we have no 
doubt; for although he paints his shanty- 
life in rose-colored tints, we do not 
believe he liked it, else why not stick to 
it ? We have a mistrust of the sincerity 
of the St. Simon Sylites', and suspect that 
they come down from their pillars in the 
niglit-time, when nobody is looking at 
them. Diogenes placed hi9 tub where 
Alexander would be sure of seeing it, 
and Mr. Thoreau ingenuously confesses 
that he occasionally went out to dine, 
and when the society of woodchucks 
and chipping-squirrels were insufficient 



for his amusement, he liked to go into 
Concord and listen to the village gossips 
in the stores and taverns. Mr. Thoreau 
informs us that he lived alone in the 
woods, by the shore of Walde-n Pond, ia 
a shanty built by his own hands, a mile 
from any neighbor, two years ^nd a half. 
What he did there besides writing the 
bo.>k before us, cultivating beans, sound- 
ing AValden Pond, reading IIo:.:cr, baking 
johnny-cakes, studying Brahimsical theo- 
logy, listening to chipping-squirrels. 
receiving visits, and having high imagina- 
tions, we do not know. He gi^es us the 
results of his bean cultivation with great 
particularity, and the cost of his shantj ; 
but the actual results of his two years 
and a half of hermit life he does not 
give. But there have been a good many 
lives spent and a good deal of noise maCe 
about them, too, from the sam total of 
whose results not half so much good 
cotdd be extracted as may be found in 
this little volume. Many a man will 
find pleasure in reading it, and many a 
one, we hope, will be profited by its 
counsels. A tour in Europe would have 
cost a good deal more, and n<>t have pro- 
duced half as much. As a matter «-f 
curiosity, to show how cheaply a gentle- 
man of refined tastes, lofty aspirations 
and cultivated intellect may live, even in 
these days of high prices, we copy Mr. 
Thorcau's account of his first year's ope- 
rations ; he did better, he informs us, 
the second year. The entire cost of his 
house, which answered all his purpose?, 
and was as comfortable and showy as he 
desired, was $2812£. But one cannot 
live on a house unless he rents it to 
somebody else, even though he be a 
philosopher and a believer in Vishnu. 
Mr. Thoreau felt the need ^f a little 
ready money, one of the mo-t convenient 
things in the world to have by one, even 
before his house was finished. 

"Wishing to earn ten or twelve dollar* 
by some agreeable and honest method." 
he observes, "I planted about two a<3vs 
aud a half of light and sandy soil, chiefly 
with beans, but also a small part with 
potatoes and corn, peas and turnips'' 
Ashe was a squatter, he paid nothing 
for rent, and as he was makinc no cal- 
culation for future crops, he expended 
nothing for manure, so that the results 
of his farming will not be highly instruc- 
tive to young agriculturists nor be li|c?iy 
to be held up as excitements to fnrminy 



1854 

pursuits by agricultural periodicals. He 
says: 

"My farm outgoes for the first season 
•were, for implement*, seed, work, &c, 
$14 72 J. The seed corn was given me. 
This never coste anything to speak of, 
unless yon plant more than enough. I 
got twelve bushels of beans, and eighteen 
bushels of potatoes, besides some peas 
and sweet corn. The yellow corn and 
turnips were too late to come to any- 
thing. My whole income from the farm 
was 

Deducting the outgoes, .... 14 73 % 
There are left, IS 71* 

besides produce consumed and on hand 
at the time this estimate was made of the 
value of $4 50, — the amount on hand 
much more than balancing a little grass 
which I did not raise. Al*. things consi- 
dered, that is, considering the impor- 
tance of a man's soul and of to-day, not- 
withstanding the short time occupied 
by my experiment, nay, partly even be- 
cause of its transient character, I believe 
that that was doing better than any 
farmer in Concord did that year." 

"We will not extract the other items 
winch Mr. Thoreau favors us with in 
the accounts of his manage ; according 
to his figures it cost him twenty-seven 
cents a week to live, clothes included ; 
and for this sum he lived healthily and 
happily, received a good many distin- 
guished visitors,, who, to humor his style, 
usedto leave their names on a leaf or a 
chip, when they did not happen to find 
him at home. But, it strikes us that all 
the knowledge which the "Hermit of 
Walden" gained by his singular expe- 
riment in living might have been done 
just as well, and as satisfactorily, with- 
out any experiment at all. We know 
what it costs to feed prisoners, paupers 
and soldiers ; we know what the cheapest 
and most nutritious food costs, and how 
little it requires to keep np the bodily 
health of a full-grown man. A very 
simple calculation will enable any one 
to satisfy himself in regard to such points. 
and those who wish to live upon twenty- 
seven cents a week, may indulge in that 
pleasure. The great Abernethy's pre- 
scription for the attainment of perfect 
bodily health was, "live on sixpence a 
day and earn it." But that would be 
Sybaritic indulgence compared with Mr. 
Thoreau's experience, whose daily ex- 
penditure hardly amounted to a quarter 
of that sum. And he lived happily, too, 
though it don't exactly speak volumes in 
favor of his system to announce that he 
only continued his economical mode of 
life two years. If it was "the thing," 



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93 

why did he not continue it? But, if he 
did not always live like a hermit, squat- 
ting on other people's property, and de- 
pending upon chance perch and pickerel 
for his dinner, he lived long enough by 
his own labor, and carried his system of 
economy to such a degree of perfection, 
that he tells us: 

" More than five years I maintained my- 
self thus solely by the labor of my hands, 
and I found that by working about six 
weeks in a year, I could meet all the ex- 
penses of living. The whole of my win- 
ters, as well as most of my summers, 
I had free and clear for study. I have 
thoroughly tried school-keeping, and 
found that my expenses were in propor- 
tion, or rather out of proportion, to my 
i\come, for I was obliged to dress and 
train, not to say think and believe, ac- 
cordingly, and I lost my time into the 
bargain. As I did not teach for the 
good of my fellow-men, but simply for a 
livelihood, this was a failure. 1 have 
tried trade ; but I found that it would 
take ten years to get under way in that, 
and that then I should probably be en 
my way to the devil. I was actually 
afraid that I might by that time be doing 
what is called a good business. "When 
formerly I was looking about to see what 
I could do for a living, some sad experi- 
ence in conforming to the wishes of 
friends being fresh in my mind to tax 
in}- ingenuity, I thought often and se- 
riously of picking huckleberries; that . 
surety I could do, and its small profits ~ JJ 3 * *© a - ~ ,,, \ 
might suffice, — for my greatest skill has — ~ '-^M'u ° >Z -^ £ ^ 
been to want but little, — so little capital "=> ^^ ' gj§ 1j> <g "3 2 
it required, so little distraction from my 
wonted moods, I 



1854 



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moods, I foolishly thought 
"While my acquaintances went unhesita- 
tingly into trade or the professions., I 
contemplated this occupation as most like 
theirs; ranging the hills all summer to 
pick the berries which came in my way, 
and thereafter carelessly dispose of them ; 
so, to keep the flocks of Admetus. I 
also dreamed that I might gather the 
wild herbs, or carry evergreens to such 
villagers as loved to be reminded of the 
woods, even to the city, by hay-cart- 
loads. But I have since learned that 
trade curses every tiling it handles; aad 
though you trade in messages from hea- 
ven, the whole curse of trade attaches to 
the business. 

"As I preferred some things to others, 
and especially valued my freedom, as I 
could fare hard and yet succeed well, I 
did not wish to spend my time in earn- 
ing rich carpets or other fine furniture, 
or delicate cookery, or a house in the 
Grecian or Gothic style just yet. If 
there be any to whom it is no interruption 



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1854 

though to some his simplicity and ab- 
stemiousness may appear trivial and 
affected; he does not live cheaply for 
the sake of -aving, nor idly to avoid la- 
bor ; but, that he may live independently 
and enjoy his great thoughts; that he 
may read the Hindoo scriptures and 
commune with the visible forms of na- 
ture. We must do him the credit to 
admit that there is no mock sentiment, 
nor simulation of piety or philanthropy in 
his volume. He is not much of a cynic, 
and though we have called him a Yankee 
Diogenes, the only personage to whom 
he bears a decided resemblanoe is that 
good humored creation of Dickens, 
Mark Tapley, whose delight was in being 
jolly under difficulties. The following 
passage might have been written by Mr. 
Tapley if that person had ever turned 
author, for the sake of testing the pro- 
vocatives to jollity, which may be found 
in the literary profession: 

" Sometimes, when I compare myself 
with other men, it seems as if I were 
more favored by the gods than they, be- 
yond any deserts that I am conscious 
of; as if I had a warrant and a surety 
at their hands which my fellows have 
not, and especially guided and guarded. 
I do not flatter myself, but if it be pos- 
sible they flatter me. I have never felt 
lonesome, or in the least oppressed by a 
sense of solitude, but once, and that was 
a few weeks after I came to the woods, 
when, for an hour, I doubted if the near 
neighborhood of man wi_s not essential 
to a serene and healthy life. To be alone 
was something unpleasant. But I was 
at the same time conscious of a slight 
insanity in my mood, and seemed to fore- 
see my recovery. In the midst of a 
gentle rain, while these thoughts pre- 
vailed, I was suddenly sensible of such 
sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in 
the very pattering of the drops, and in 
every sound and sight around my hou*e, 
an infinite and unaccountable friendli- 
ness all at once like an atmosphere sus- 
taining me, as made the fancied advan- 
tages of human neighborhood insignifi- 
cant, and I have never thought of them 
since. Every little pine needle expanded 
and swelled with sympathy and be- 
friended me. I was so distinctly made 
aware of the presence of something 
kindred to me, even in scenes which we 
are accustomed to call wild and dreary, 
and also that the nearest in blood to me 
and humanest was not a person nor a 
villager, that I thought no place could 
ever be strange to me again. 

• Mourning untimely consumes the sad ; 
Few are their days in the land of the living, 
Beautiful daughter of Toscar.' 



94 

" Some of my pleasantest hours were 
during the long rain storms in the spring 
or fall, which confined me to the house 
for the afternoon as well as t' e fore- 
noon, soothed by their ceaseless roar and 
pelting ; when an early twilight ushered 
in a long evening in which many 
thoughts had time to take root and un- 
fold themselves. In those driving north- 
east rains which tried the village houses 
so, when the maids stood ready with 
mop and pail in front entries to keep the 
deluge out, I sat behind the door in my 
little bouse, which was all entry, and 
thoroughly enjoyed its protection. In 
one heavy thunder shower, the light- 
ning struck a large pitch-pine across the 
pond, making a very conspicuous and 
perfectly regular spiral groove from top 
to bottom, an inch or more deep, and 
lour or five inches wide, as you would 
groove a walking-stick. I pas>ed it 
again the other day, and was struck with 
awe on looking up and beholding that 
mark, now more distinct than ever, 
where a terrific and resistless bolt came 
down out of the harmless sky eight years 
ago. Men frequently say to me, 'I 

should think you would feel lonesome 
down there, and want to be nearer folks, 
rainy and snowy days, and nights espe- 
cially.' I am tempted to reply to such, 
— This whole earth which we inhabit is 
but a point in space. How far apart, 
think yon, dwell the two most distant in- 
habitants of yonder star, the breadth of 
whose disc cannot be appreciated by 
our instruments? Why should I feel 
lonely ? Is not our planet in the Milky 
Way ? This which you put seems to me 
not to be the most important question. 
What sort of space is that which sepa- 
rates a man from his fellows and makes 
him solitary? I have found that no ex- 
ertion of the legs can bring two minds 
much nearer to one another. What do 
we want most to dwell near to ? Not to 
many men surely, the depot, the post- 
office, the bar-room, the meeting-house, 
the school-house, the grocery, Beacon 
Hill, or the Five Point*, where men most 
congregate, but to the perennial source 
of our life, whence in all our experience 
we have found that to issue, as the wil- 
low stands near the water and sends out 
itf roots in that direction. This will 
vary with different natures, but this is 
the place where a wise man will dig his 
cellar. * * I one evening overtook 
one of my townsmen, who has accumu- 
lated what is called /"a handsome pro- 
perty,*' — though I never got &/air view 
of it, — on the Walden road, driving a 
pair of cattle to market, who inquired 
of me hew I could bring my mind to 



1854 




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1854 

higher, or, as it is named, spiritual life, 
as do most men, and another toward a 
primitive, rank, ;»nd savage one, and I 
reverence them both. I love the wild 
not lc>s than the good. The wildness 
and adventure that are in fishing still re- 
commend it to me. I like sometimes to 
take rank hold on life and spend my day 
more as the animals do. Perhaps 1 have 
owed to this employment and to hunting, 
when quite young, my closest acquain- 
tance with Nature. They early intro- 
duce us to and detain us in scenery with 
which otherwise, at that age, we should 
have liUle acquaintance. Fishermen, hun- 
ters, woodchoppers, and others, spending 
their lives in the fields and woods, in a pe- 
culiar sense a part of Nature themselves, 
are often in a more favorable mood for 
observing her in the intervals of their 
pursuits, than philosophers or poets even, 
who approach her with expectation. 
She is not afraid to exhibit herself to 
them. The traveller on the prairie is 
naturally a hunter, on the head waters 
of the Missouri and Columbia a trapper, 
and at the Falls of St. Mary a fisherman. 
He who is only a traveller learns things 
at second-hand and by the halves, and is 
poor authority. We are most interested 
when science reports what those men al- 
ready know practically or instinctively, 
for that alone is a true humanity, or ac- 
count of human experience. 

"They mistake who assert that the 
Yankee has few amusements, because 
he has not so many public holida) s, and 
men and boys do not play so many games 
as they do in England, for here the more 
primitive but solitary amusements of 
hunting, fishing and the like, have not 
yet given place to the former. Almost 
every New England hoy among my con- 
temporaries shouldered a fowling-piece 
between the ages of ten and fourteen; 
and his hunting and fishing grounds 
were not limited like the preserves of an 
English nobleman, but were more bound- 
less even than tho^e of a savage. No 
wonder, then, that he did not ofrener 
stay to play on tha common. But al- 
ready a change is taking place, owing, 
not to an increased humanity, but to an 
increased scarcity of game, for perhaps 
the hunter is the greatest friend to the 
animals hunted, not excepting the Hu- 
mane Society." 

There is much excellent good sense 
delivered in a very comprehensive and 
by no means unpleasant style in Mr. 
Tuoreau's book, and let people think as 
they may of the wisdom or propriety of 
living after his fashion, denying oneself 



95 

all the luxuries which the earth can af- 
ford, for the sake of leading a life of law- 
less vagabondage, and freedom from 
starched cqllars, there are but few readers 
who will fail to find profit and refresh- 
ment in his pages. Perhaps some prac- 
tical people will think that a philosopher 
like Mr. Thoreau might have done the 
world a better service by purchasing a 
piece of land, and showing how much it 
might be made to produce, instead of 
squatting on another man's premises, 
and proving how little will suffice to 
keep body and soul together. But we 
must allow philosophers, and all other 
men, to fulfil their missions in their own 
way. If Mr. Thoreau had been a prac- 
tical farmer, we should not have been 
favored with his volume; his corn and 
cabbage would have done but little to- 
wards profiting us, and we might never 
have been the better for his labors. As 
it is, we see how much more valuable to 
mankind is our philosophical vagabond 
than a hundred sturdy agriculturists ; any 
plodder may raise beans, but it is only one 
in a million who can write a readable vol- 
ume. With the following extract from 
his volume, and heartily recommending 
him to the class of readers who exact 
thoughts as well as words from an 
author, we must take leave, for the pre- 
sent, of the philosopher of Walden Pond, 
" M> >st men appear never to have 
considered what a house is, and are 
actually, though needlessly poor all their 
lives, because they think that they 
must have such an one as their neigh- 
bors have. As if one were to wear 
any sort of coat which the tailor might 
cut out for him ; or, gradually leaving off 
palmTeaf hat or cap of woodchuck skin, 
complain of hard times because he could 
not iford to buy him a crown! It is 
possible to invent a house still more con- 
venient and luxurious than we have, 
whieli 3*et all would admit that man 
could not afford to pay for. Shall we 
always study to obtain more of these 
thing;, and not sometimes to be content 
with less ? Shall the respectable citizen 
thus gravely teach by precept and ex- 
ample, the necessity of the young man's 
providing a certain number of superfluous 
glow<Loes, and umbrellas, and empty 
guest chambers for empty guests, before 
he di*s ? Why should not our furniture be 
as simple as the Arab's or the Indian's t 
When I think of the benefactoi s of the 
race, whom we have apotheosized as 
messengers from heaven, bearers of di- 
vine gifts to man, I do not see in my 
mind any retinue at their heels, any car- 
load <tf fashionable furniture. Or what 



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and a hundred other oriental things, 
which we are taking west with us, in- 
vent^ for the the ladies of harem and the 
effeminate natives of the Celestial Em- 
pire, which Jonathan should he ashamed 
to know the names of. I would rather 
sit on a pumpkin and have it all to my- 
self, than he crowded on a velvet cush- 
ion. I would ralher ride on earth in an 
ox-«irt with a free circulation, than go 
to heaven in the fancy car of an excur- 
siop train, and breathe a malaria all the 
wav." 



Relioious character or in Hikdoo. 

— The Hindoo is the most religions being in 
existence. Rising up and sitting down, walking 
and standing, drinking and eating, waking ana 
sleeping, obeyiag the precepts of his moral 
code, and disregarding them, all he does is with 
the spirit of religion. Not an action he per- 
forms, not a step he takes, not a word he utters, 
not a breath he draws, but he does all agreea- 
bly to the institutes of his religion. It is 



\ 



96 

I murk the wailing of the wind, 
The frost so clear and bright, 

BparkliDg upon the crisp brown earth. 
In '.he palo moonbeam's light 

And is thy deep and mellow voice 

Dieijn the air away, 
I seem to see the flowerets droop, 

In tho cold autumn day. 

And I, too, think of dear onos gone, 
Gone with the buds of spring, 

As tho minstrel's deep and solemn words 
Over my spirit ring. 

Yet, thine is a great — a noble art— 

Circing with balo bright 
The post's dream, till it seems to glow. 

Radtant with life and light 

Ibid ., 11-11-54 



1854 



$rto ItysWttstions. 



WALDEN; OR, LITK IN THK WOODS. By gnu D. 
Taotuc. Author of " A Woak on tho Coacord aad 
Uorrinaek Riven." 



These books spring from a depth of thought 

which will not suffer them to be pat by, and are 

written in a spirit in striking contrast with that 

prescribed to a Brahmin which foot be must put uppermost In our time and couatry. Out 

out first in petting up; he must then carefully «7™ ' ""• 

. . * ... of the heart of practical, hard-working, progree 



cleanse his teeth ; then follows religious ablu- 
tion of the whole body ; next he recites inaudi- 
bly certain sacred texts ; his hair and nails 
must bo cut round, though he must never cut 
them himself ; his mantle must bo white ; his 
staff, made of the canonical wood, must be of 
such a length a& to reach his hair, straight, with- 
out fracture, of a handsome appearance, with 
its bark perfect ; he must wear golden ear-rings. 
He must not eat with his own wife ; nor look 
at her eating, or sneezing, or yawning, or sit- 
ting carelessly at her ease, or setting . off her 
eyes with black powder, or scenting herself. — 
He must not blow the fire, nor warm his feet 
in it, nor stride over it; he must not sleep 
with his feet wet ; ho must not step over a 
string to which a calf is tied ; he must not 
pass over the shadow of a red-haired man. He 
must read the Vedas in various ways ; every 
word singly, or every other word twice, or 
backwards. He must not look upon the rising 
or tho setting sun, nor when it is clouded over, 
or upon its image in tho water. He must 
avoid standing upon hair or ashes, or bones, 
or potsherds, or seeds of cotton, or husks of 
grain. Ho must not remain even under the 
shade of a tree with outcasts, or idiots, or 
washermen, or other vile persons-— Princeton 
Review. 

Home Journal . N.Y. , 11-11-54 



LINKS SUGGESTED BT UEA1UNQ PROrESSOR HOWS 
READ BRYANT'S DEATH Or TU1 FLOWER*. BY 
JOHN CRCUER MILLS 

Oft had I read the verses o'er, 

Oft listened to the strain ; 
But never in my mind before, 

Did their full sense remain. 

Never, until thy swelling tones 
Impressed thorn on my heart — 

Never, until their beauties came 
Clothed by thy glorious art 

And now I almost hear the leaves 

Rapidly rustle by ; 
The rabbit's tread o'er the frozen ground, 

The robin's plaintive cry. 



cive New England come these Oriental utterance*. 
The life exhibited in them teaches us, much more 
Impressively than any number of sermons could, 
that this Western activity of which we are so 
proud, these material improvements, this commer- 
cial enterprise, this rapid accumulation of wealth, 
even our external, associated philanthropic action, 
are very eerily overrated. The true glory of the 
human sool is not to be reached by the most rapid 
travelling In ear or steamboat, by the instant 
transmission of intelligence however far, by the 
most speedy accumulation of a fortune, and how- 
ever efficient measures we may adopt for the re- 
form of the intemperate, the emancipation of the 
enslaved, Ac., It will avail little unless we are 
ourselves e ssen ti a ll y noble enough to inspire those 
whom we would so benefit with nobleness. Exter- 
nal bondage Is trifling compared with the bondage 
of an ignoble soul Such things are often said, 
doubtless, in pulpits and elsewhere, but the men 
who say them are too sf*. to live just with the 
crowd, and so their wo^flsceome more and more to 
ring with a hollow ■owfe£ 

It is refreshing to ftnflsm these books the senti- 
ments of one man whose aim manifestly is to Mm, 
and not to waste his time upon the externals of 
living. Educated at Cambridge, in the way called 
liberal, he seems determined to make a liberal life 
of it, and not to become the slave of any calling, 
for the sake of earning a reputable livelihood or 
of being regarded as a useful member of society. 
He evidently considers it his first business to be- 
come more and more a living, advancing soul, 
knowing that thus alone (though he derires to 
think as little as possible about that) can he be, 
in any proper sense, useful to others. Mr. The- 
resa's view of life has been called seine*. His 
own words, under the head of "Philanthropy" 
la Walden, are the amplest "defence against this 
charge, to those who can appreciate them. In a 
deeper sense than we commonly think, charity 
begins at home. The man who, with any fidelity, 








! I 



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s ■§ J- 8 3 i •* M m 

a a *j « | 8 1 *3 

• o *• 3 s Erf 

UlJIillll 



1855 

•peaking from the fullness of bis inward life, 
makes their luxuries appear vulgar, showing that, 
in a direct way, he has obtained the essence of 
that which his entertainers have been vainly seek- 
ing for at such a terrible expense. 

It seems remarkable that these books have 
received no more adequate notice in our Literary 
Journals. But the class of scholars are often as 
blind aa others to any new elevation of soul. In 
Putnam's Magazine, Mr. Tboreau is spoken of as 
an oddity, as the Yankee Diogenes, as though the 
really ridiculous oddity were not in us of the 
" starched shirt-collar " rather than in this de- 
votee of Nature and Thought. Some have praised 
the originality and profound sympathy with which 
he views natural objects. We might as well stop 
with praising Jeans for the happy use he has made 
oT the lilies of the field. The fact of surpassing 
Interest for us is the simple grandeur of Mr. Tho- 
reau's position — a position open to us all, and of 
which this sympathy with Nature is but a single 
result This is seen in the less descriptive, more 
purely thoughtful •passages, such as that upon 
Friendship In the " Wednesday " of the " Week," 
and in those - upon " Solitude," " What I lived 
for," and " Higher Laws," in " Walden," as well 
as in many others in both books. We do not be- 
lieve <hat, in the whole course of literature, an- 
cient and modern, so noble a discourse upon 
Friendship can be produced as that which Mr. 
Tboreau has given us. . It points to a relation, to 
be sure, which, from the ordinary level of our 
lives, may seem remote and dreamy. But it is 
our thirst for, and glimpses of, such things which 
indicate the greatness of our nature, which give 
the purest charm and colouring to our Uvea. The 
striking peculiarity of Mr. TBoreau's attitude is, 
that while he is no religionist, art suiWe he is 
eminently practical in regard to the material 
economies of life, be yet manifestly feels, through 
and through, that the loftiest dreams of the imagi- 
nation are the solidest realities, and so the only 
foundation for us to build upon, while the affairs 
In which men are everywhere busying themselves 
so intensely are comparatively the merest froth 
and foam. 



I Unpolled for ih» telegraph I 

IneJsjjnjDiidont Anti-Slavery Lectures. 

Tljs\(ecture of last evening, at Treinont Temple, 
was ptveu hy Kalph Waldo Emerson, Ksq. Oil 
comment iug his address, Mr. Erocrson said that 
imc must writo with a red hot iron to make an 
impression on the subject of slavery He bad 
Imped that some person would be found from the 
South to come atul d-fend tlio system. But no one. 
though the committee had invited many, was found 
to incept the invitation ILid they done so, it 
would surprise many to know how little could he 
said in favor of slovery We are now here, the 
third general ion siucc tho evil of oui father*, when 

i hey made the i tiact of government. And now 

however, strong the tile setting ill favor of free 
tloni, the code of shivery is ruore malicusnl 
thitu ever before. Ileccnt action has brought 
slavery home to New England. We cannot treai 
it as a tiling l.y itsrlf. hut as it stands in oui sy« 
torn The crying facts urc 1 hut in a nation which 
proteoses to hum- its laas on the principle of -.-- 
curing the greatest good to the greatest nnniher 
uud in conformity with the doctrines of t'hrisiian 
ity, there is allowed in a part of this country to 
subsist, n system which makes the poor people it. 
victims, and when they dislike this peeling process, 



97 

a law has l.cen passed to compel \u to »eize these 
poor people and tell them they h-ivo not been 
stripped and plundered enough, hut they must go 
hack and he plundered iy;siii. 

Hut slavery must he considered as an accident nl 
a larger calamity. It consists in n scepticism 
which is not local but universal. The tone of t.Ui 
press no slavery is only an indication of the nior 
si pulses. The tolerance of slavery is worse in 
this.- the stupidity it betrays in the heart and 
baud of society, a soctel) without faith 

Tli* young need some ideal before them which 
is worthy ol their nature, •sonic foeniau worthy of 
their steel ,' something which would make thcin 
greater than they arc Among intellectual men 
there is a looking round for more satisfying knowl- 
edge. Are there intellectual men' tin into the 
festooned ami tempered brilliancy of drawing 
rooms, and see the fortunate youth of both sexes, 
the very Uowci of society for whom eveiy accom 
plishment has been secured, with genins nnd eour 
ige answerintr to those fair forms, Ihi-y are only 
growing worldly wise. 

The I'emocials and the Whigs have neither ol 
them addressed themselves to the relief of lh> 
country from slavery. They would nail thestan-l 
to the sky. With their eyes over their shoulders 
fixed to the past, they copy their ancestor' Oui ' 
polities have run so low that gentlemen ol char.tr 
lei » ill an long.r go into them It ban ilicadi 
In coins discrediialdu work. Those who liavi 
gone to t'ongreas from us were honest, well mean 
ing men, yet they voted for this criminal measun 
with the basest of the populace, and did not see 
the grimaces of tho bullies that stimulated then 
to it. 

But what shall we think of this now movement I 
with which all the world rings' We were rleai 
thut the old parties could not lead us. Hut shall' 
we tlteraforc abdicate our reason i 1 employed 
I'slsv oM<i and they misled me ; shall I therefor. 
,.:aalU|Mn a hag ' The late revelutioii 
MasHI HP* no man will wonder at who sees 
how TarTW politics had departed from the course 
of simple right. As the obi parties inspired no 
respect they found none, and they were turned out 
in an immense frolic Hut to persist in the joke 
It is not sale to play with edge tools, and no kuifi 
is so sharp as legislation. 

The nccultatioii of this nation took place when 
Slavery was recognized. In I7--7 our fathers en 
tered into a compact which ought never to h.ivi 
been made. They should have refused the ordi- 
nance at the risk of no Union There is ulwav » so 
much ruin for so much crime and. as one of the re- 
sults of the crime of Slavery, there is not to I- 
found in the present generation one sou at tin 
South to make good the reputation of the fatheri 

VII writer* on l.tw an I all jurists have agreed 
that a law against morals is void Vet i" the I'ni 
led States of America justice has ' ecu poisoned ui 
the fountain, and hero in New England, in mil 
an.ii-nt t oioinonv ealth. no judge appeared wiih 
principle enoui'h In ,i-k, not whether the lugitiv. 
law was constitutional, hut whether it was right. 
i his giving back a stolen man to hi* plunder-re 
was most painful. There was law enough in Mas 
ssrhusctts to prevent the ciime. but no judge was 
t'-iund to cxi cute it, and no (lovernor to disci;arg< 
his duty The Governor was not worth his Colli- 
de, i great applause) and the judge was afraid o! 
the coljision of th« I'nited States Court- with tin 
local Courts. 

What is the effect of this evil government? It 
K of course, I,, discredit all government. This i 
the compensation that bad governments afford, the 
tin-Hire they offer for illustrious men: and vv. 
have a great duty to the bravo and coiisrioncioii- 
inen, who in the very heart ol tne evil acts, niaib 

the!)' protests for themselves and for theii < n 

irym n They are jesifl^d and the law is c. n 
demited. ( Ippl.i ise ) 

While the in ividual iudepeiidcnce which i- 
mmisVsted is vastly import ml. the n.i.l i.iioi 
in ri ference to s av cry is not to be un crvalueii 
I he time was when the American ideas found a 
embodiment in Washington nnd Plains, I nl nor 
«.- put obscure men into othY.i nnd get a rl?iir. 
awt'iil on'y to ofli e holders The historical th- on 
of out' government is li erty. Liberty i- a scrioii- 
thing the severest te-t by which *i governim p: 
can he tried. Through the uniiy of the South, am 
the attention there g. vcii to politics, the rountrv 
has been dwindled out of liberty. 

the 'higher Isw" vvlis then vindicated. 'No 
Ui.vii." says Loril Nelson "can go wrong who bring? 
his ship alongside of the Krou.h, ' for the great 
order was ''down with the French ' in a nav* 
action. 8o that is the nglit meaning of the Staiuli 



1855 

cs to every leap 



which ex t I pates i nine and gives to .very map 
the Lngo-i li'.erly. comp.i tilde with the lihcrtv 
of every other man No citizen will g" wrong wh< 
leans to the side of liberty, i.tppl Use). 

Mr. I un i son cone! j. it-. I by In in go g forward lb. 
proposition to purchase the Slaves, in-n- , liovv 
ever acknovvleoglng the right of the pluii ci-l i. 
own mi ii, but aoknnnlc.ig'Ug llie diffii nllii « of hi- 
positioii. and " illing on our pari to In ar a < onntrv- 
man's share in r. loving him. Not.i:: w..,.ld l» 
more cloeifullv paid, lie though', though I he pric- 
■o be p-ii ■! .iiio.uts to S-2,000,OOO.OIH) The mcii'i- 

iieiilstoWashuigt.n and 1'r.niklin cm wail I'oi 

.. .i ~..i. ... i .. a. 




r tin Slave. 

lb. lei tore w.is jii«t one hour in its delivery 
nd was listen il to with intense interest L\ the 

qi. M.t.li, ii. e 



iiiiinense audience 

[Lecture delivered in 
Boston, 1-25-55.] 



fff ' Mf.slcantiI-h Lideabt Association.— 

V*KmnA-c1ur>* MONDAY KV£,K1N(»HE8IES 

Th*e*»Trnth Lecture of tt's Scries will b<> delivered la th* 
Tm*o»t TsurLi, on MONDAY ► VIVlNU, Jan. W a, »/ 
BAM H WALDO EMEBSON. 
DsonoH* *t6K— Tavctar* eonunrnnes at7H o'oliek. 

Tlskets M cert" ; for sal* at th* door. 
January*? tp KDWLN J. HWETT. Bee 8«..'y. 

Tffa A-«i,LO-AMKitii an Mr. Emerson's lec- 
ture before the Mercantile Library last evening 
was what might have been expected from one of 
the most acute observers and quaintest writers 
of the day. It was sententious nud piquant, 
abounding in humor, and underlaid with a vein 
of the deepest thought and strongest Emersumwi 
sense. Tho Anglo-American— having passed 
through Mr. Emerson's alembic — enme out • 1 i 
vested of nearly every mnnly, generous impulse, 
and the blind agent of the materiality of tne con- 
tinent upon which he lives. He wns nicrelyjnl- 
fllling his destiny — a destiny forced upon him by 
the agi'lcnltui'sl, commercial, and manufacturing 
resource* '•(' tho country. To find a real sped 
men of the Anglo-American, one mint now pro 
cced to the Western side of the Allesjhsnics, to 
the broad prairies of the West. Mr Emcjson'i 
description of the American as be is there seen 
was unique nnd picturesque in the extreme. 
Some of his illustrations were excellent. Tho 
wonderful powers of absoi-ption and appropria- 
tion of this country wero thus alluded to: "The 
Mississippi swallows the Missouri, the Illinois, 
the Ohio, and other river«, and does not widen 
its channel; so the Anglo-American race ab- 
sorbed thousands of Germans, French, Irish, unit 
English, and remain* unchanged I n its characteris- 
tics." Americans, he said; would ride in steam- 
..* madaof lucifer matches, if they could thereby 
save an honr In crossing the Atlantic. 

[Lecture delivered in 
Boston, 1-29-55.] 




1855 

Popular Reform. 

The advocates of Fourier's philosophy 

of living must feel their confidence in the radi- 
cal doctrines of this school tempest-shaken, if not 
annihilated, by the failure which has uniformly 
attended all attempts to put their theories 
into practice. Tho late sale of " Brook Farm," 
at one time tho headquarters of Massachusetts 
Socialists, and established at great expense, will 
doubtless have the effect to discourage all ex- 
periments of the sort for some time to come. 
It is to be lamented that so much talent and 
real power should have been thrown away on 
such an outlandish scheme of living. Surely 
there is enough to do in society, to reform evils, 
in the character of which good men uniformly 
concur, to employ all the enthusiasm, intel- 
lect and opportunity which can be spared from 
the selfish businesses of life, without resorting 
to problematical speculations, particularly if 
the whole moral force of society be arrayed 
against them. Mayor Wood is doing more, by 
his deoisive measures of practical reform, to rid 
society of its incubus of crime and misery, than 
the impractical philosopher in his closet, aided 
by the intemperate disciple in the field, can 
ever achieve : and any mayor before might 
have done the same, had not tho will, the en- 
ergy, the moral courage, been wanting. 

While we would not discourage dreamers 
from indulging their philosophic vagaries, we 
would offer every possible encouragement to 
practical philanthropy, which produces its na- 
tural fruits not only in the locality to which it 
is especially applied, but wherever the report of 
its good work goes. These gigantic reforms 
reveal to us the magnitude of the moral dis- 
eases which corrupt society to the core, and 
lead the way, like stepping-stones, to other rig- 
orous measures, the need of which would 
scarcely have otherwise been thought of. Thus 
is magnified the glory of the real reformer, and 
in this proportion is he remembered of posterity. 

The Home Journal , 
N.Y., 4-14-55, p. 2. 

TOPICS ASTIR. 



Philip Froneau* 

At the last meeting of the Historical 

Society, Mr. Evert A. Dayckinck read a dis- 
criminating and masterly paper on the poetical 
workB of Philip Freneau, who died on the eight- 
eenth of December, 1832. The circumstances 
of his death were thus announced in the Mon- 
mouth (New Jersey) Inquirer : — " Mr. Freneau 
was in tho village, and started, towards evening, 
to go home, about two miles. In attempting 
to go across, he appears to have got lost and 
mired in a bog-meadow, where his lifeless corpse 
was discovered yesterday morning. Captain 
Freneau was a staunch whig in the time of tho 
Revolution, a good soldier and a warm patriot. 
The productions of his pen animated his coun- 
trymen in the darkest days of '76, and the effu- 
sions of his muse cheered the desponding soldier 
as bo fought the battles of freedom." While 



98 

tho Minror was under our editorial direction, 
we published a biographical account of this 
popular revolutionary poet, from the pen of the 
late John Pintnrd, who knew him well and inti- 
mately. The Evening Post is mistaken in sup- 
posing that there is no portrait of Freneau 
extant. We saw a striking likeness of him in 
oil, from the pencil of the late Mr. Jarvls ; but 
what became of it, or in whose possession it 
remains, we have no means, at present, of ascer- 
taining. Dr. Franois is one of the few remain- 
ing friends of Freneau, and he furnished Mr. 
Duyckinck with the following pleasing remi- 
niscences, which we take great pleasure in pre- 
senting to the reader : — 

" It were easy," says Dr. Francis, '« te re- 
cord a long list of eminent oitiiens who ever 
gave him a cordial welcome. He was received 
with the warmest greetings by the old soldier, 
Governor George Clinton. He, also, in the 
intimacy of kindred feeling, found an agree- 
able pastime with the learned provost of the 
American Protestant Episoopate, who himself 
had shouldered a musket in the Revolution, 
and hence was sometimes oalled the fighting 
bishop. They were allied by classical tastes, 
a love of natural science, and ardor in the 
oause of liberty. With Gates he compared 
the achievements of Monmouth with those at 
Saratoga. With Colonel Fish he reviewed 
the Capture of Yorktown ; with Dr Mit- 
chill he rehearsed, from his own sad experi- 
ence, the physical sufferings and various dis- 
eases of the inoaroerated patriots of the Jersey 
prison-ship , and descanted on Italian poetry 
and the piscatory oologaes of Sannaiarias. 
He doubtless furnished Dr. Benjamin Dewitt 
with data for his funeral discourse on the re- 
mains of the eleven thousand five hundred 
Amerioan martyrs. With Pintard he could 
laud Horace and talk largely of Paul Jones. 
With Major Fairlie he discussed the tactics and 
ohivalry of Baron -Stouben. With Sylvanus 
Miller he oompared notes on the political olubs 
of 1795—1810. He shared Paine's visions of 
an ideal demooraoy. With De Witt Clinton 
and Cad wallader D. Golden he debated the pro- 
jects of internal improvement and artificial na- 
vigation, based on the famous preoedent of the 
Languedoo oanal. I had, when very young," 
continues Dr. Franois, " read the poetry of 
Freneau, and as we instinotively beoome at- 
tached to the writers who first oaptivate our 
imaginations, it was with much sest that I 
formed a personal aoquaintanoe with the re- 
volutionary bard. He was at that time 
about seventy-six years old, when he first in- 
troduced himself to me, in my library. I gave 
him an earnest welcome. He was somewhat 
below the ordinary height j in person thin, 
yet musoular, with a firm step, though a little 
inclined to stoop ; bis countenance wore 
traces of care, yet lightened with intelligence 
as he spoke; he was mild in enunoiation, 
neither rapid nor slow, but clear, distinot and 
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1855 





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1855 




MR. EMF.litiON ASD THE LADIES. 




'-/ 



MOXUMEKT TO THE OSSOLT FAVTU 

m 

Tbn family of Mirqaret Fuller Ossoli ha 
just erected to ber memory, and that of her husband 
and child, a marble monument in Moitt Aibara ('en 
etery, in Massachusetts. It is located on Pyrola-path, 
in a beautiful part of the grounds, and hiu near it 
aonic i oble oaks, while the hand of affcotion has 
p anted many a flower. The body of Margaret Fullsr 
rests in the ocean, bat her memory abides in many 1 " 
hearts. She Deeds no monumental stone, bat human 
affection loves thns to do honor to the departed. 

The monument was designed and executed by Mr. 
Thomas Carcw, an artist of Boston. It is upright in 
form, and on its side, facing the srsNt, is oat in the 
ros/*)!* t> medallion the size of life, ami said to be an 
excellent Ukekca* of Madame Ossoli, bat requiring the 
right light and point of view. It is sarronnded by an 
exquisitely carved oak wreath. Beneath the medal- 
lion is a book, denoting the literary vocation of Mar- 
garet Fuller, and near it is seen the bit', of a sword, 
designating the military profession of the Marquis 
Ossoli, who was Captain of the Civic Guard during 
the Roman Involution of 1R4H. Above tho medallion 
is a star [ski J, wLiuh was Mtdame O-soli s sigaature in 
The N. T. Tribvbe, but is designed for the higher 
purpose of signifying that, even as the stars shine 
bright in the heavens when earth i« dark, so do she 
and be* live in brightness and joy, though on earth 
there are many who deeply mourn their departure. 
The whole is surmounted with the cross, that ewnbtem 
of the Christ' an faith — its trials, often its death of 
agony; but betokening, too, that even as Christ died 
and rose sgain and aaotj|ded t > Heaven, so a'bo shall 
all who love as Ho loved, endure faithfully as He en- 
dued, and die trustingly eren aa He died. Tooro is 
to emblem especially designed for the little child, but 
near by is a marble slao with an appropriate inscrip- 
tion, beneath which his dust reposes. The following 
is the inscription on the monument: 



B 



■IICTIO 

IN MEMORY OP 

MARGARET FOTULsTCL OSSOLI. 

Born in Cambridge, Mm., May 23, 10 10. 
By bulb, a oltlasnof New-Enf sod; by adoption,* c'tiaeo 
of Rome ; by gentoa, helonglnt to the NV'orld. In youth, an 
Ineaokttn • lodmt areklci tee hlgbeateraltBre; in riper years, 
Csscber, Whtcr, Ciirc of Lnetotore ud Art: In mature* 
eae, Companion and Helper of many earneat Reformers In 
Averlca and Korope. 

an, 

IN MEMORY OP HER BCIBASTD, 
GIOVAjniI AMQKUO, XxSAXQtTa* OMOLI. 
He saw n» rank, -'atlon and bene fas Taw Roman Re- 
public, aaef Cot kss Wife end Child. 

AID, 

I* memory or THU C1IILP, 

AefOELO EUOEaTS FBxXZP OMOIO, 

Bora la Rietl, Italy, Sept. «, lilt. 

Wbsmb 4a. t repewa at the foot of tat* atone. 
tkey Bomrf from UfeTmabor by okisvreck, 

- JUL? If. l*To. 
felted b> BY* by motaal lore, la Won end trtela, Uws mar- 
clrel Father took them together, ead 

!■ ixira thbt wxaa a** dividkq. 




From Tht hoiM*T*mM*r , Stpt. T\. 
The Convention closed last nigbt by a public moet- 
irp at tl.e Melodeon, the chief a trac'ion nt which con- 
sisted in mi Address from Ralph Waldo Emerson, and 
it Po.m by Mrs. E. Oakes Smith. Tie place was 
crowded, many gcn'letnen being pre«eut who had 
come wiili the irreverent motive of laughing nt the 
proceedings. 

ISome preliminaries, in the shape of reading resolu- 
tionn, bavirg been oispe>se<1 of, 

Mr. F.mcrson not it.troduocd, and delivered a very 
line orution, full <>f niytbt • graiidonr and nonscum, but 
ledcracd l>> paesages of *roat beauty and brilUssace. 
On the whole, it told far more egiinst "the cause" 
thiin t'er it. To attempt an abstract, for which 
nlone we should have epc e at disposal to-day, would 
he to Co iniustioe alike to the lecturer and his theme. 
He caid Ibat be shaifd in the liolicf of tho Anglo- 
Saxon i »( o that woinau Las a rational nature, that 
thc\ ate more eelicHte 'han men, and as the more ira- 
l>r<stionable, they were the beet inder of tho coining 
hour. As moic celicate Mercuries of imponder- 
able influences, what they say and think were 
the shndows of futu»e events. Man was will, 
woman s«ntin.tt:t. In the ship of humanity, will 
wbh the ruddor, eei.l intent the sail; and when woman 
attempts to steer, the rudder was only a masked soil. 
■JVhen women enj/aged in any trade, it was only as 
a resource, not a primary object. The life of the af-' 
factions sat primnry to them, so that fhero in rosily 
no employment or earo»r that they will not with $etr 
own applause, or that of society, quit for a suitaMe 
marriage. [Laughter.] Tbcy east all thoir fortunes 
on the die, and lose themselves entirely in tho glory 
of their husband's children, while man stood bewil- 
dered by a n.ugnanimiiy which ho could not attain to. 
It was true (said Mr. Ktnerson) that in paintiog, 
poetry and sculpture, women had not yet produced a 
master; and he thou proceeded to point out the re- 
spect* in which lay their peouGar excellent The 
tati*. of tfceoe were their powers ot con letanuuu. 
TTisiy fBnitahed society with manners. They embel- 
lisbetl trifle*. An ox ran to tbe water when thirsty, 
or to bis corn, regaroless of obstacle", and said no 
'banks; but msn delays; he paints tbe desired object 
all over with forms; he invented majes'y, etiquette, 
courts, drawing rooms architecture, dress, elegance, 
privacy; he created oigiitiee, the ucion of the B»xe«; 
and row should we hettermeasur«*ne gulf betw?en the 
lxt.t intercourse of man, in old Athens, Lonion or our 
American capitids, — belween that and the hed?"-hog 
exislet.ee of (he rtijjpprs of worms nwi eaters of offal, 
than by signalizing just this department of taite or 
comeliness: ytt herein woman was the prime genius 
spo ordsiner. There was no grace taught by the m -as- 
ter of manner', no style adopted in he etiquette of 
courts, but was first tbe action of some brilliant 
woman, who charmed the beholders by this new ex- 
rircnior, which mau oopied; and he thought that we 
should magnify their ritual manners. There was no 
ac" vantage without compensation. Woman wis more 
vulnerable, more infirm, than man. They coaW not 
be snob elegant arti-ts in the element of fancy hT they 
did not y'ivc themselves to it; they were pods who 
believed their own noet'y; they dwelt more th-ui man 
in the kingdom of illusion. The;, admitted into their 
atmoMbere waves ove'WHves of cbloreelli<ht, todthev 
saw all object* through tho-e warm-tinted mists which 
en»elo{-e them. Hut tbe crown of woman, the throne 
of ber affection aud sentiment, and the infinite enlari;e- 
n>ent to which they leeid.wns tho passion of love-piinter 
wd adornor of new and tarl< life; but none sus;x tied, 
iu its blushes and tremor*, what tru^clies au.l immor- 
talities wex* beyond it. Mr. Kmeison then went on 
to show that aa society had progressed, so bad the 
position of woman changed and Improved; and con- 
cluded by anying that he did not think it yet ap- 
peared that womon wish an equal sha-e in public 
affairs, llut it was tbey, and ti>t we, who were to 
determine it |Aip!ause]. 1 1" we refused them a vote, 
we should refuse to tax thf iu according to our Teu- 
tonic principle, no representa' iem no bix. At all 
event* this uprenring of new opinions in many minds 
was a wondetful fact. Whatever is popular is import- 
ant, a* showing the spontaneous sonso of the hour, for 
the aspiration of this centuiy will be the code of the 
next. A masculine woman was not strong, but a lady 
is Tbe loveliest thought, the poorest jiraver, is rush- 
ing to be the history of a tliousand years. Lot us have 
the true woman, the a»lort-er, the ccpurnemml, tho hos- 
p'table, tbe religious heart; and no lawyer need bo 
callvel in to write ti.e slipuln ions with cunning clause* 
of provision ai il strong instrument*. Then, ho ought 
to say. bo thought it impossible to separavo the educt- 



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1866 

A LrftT ftotn Tire. Hove rvekhoU 

riNrmiiATl, Obio. l'ueeilay. Oct 9, lt)55 
To the F.lilor of tfie .Veu-- York limit fimrt : 

A wonmn mnlipned, or charged with heinous 
(rimii, be'oga tdO (00 persons, reader* of the riMte 
rtud Irttntnr, 10 sty nothing of their eehoe* all over 
l«ir«l. may be al owen to ask ibe grace r\to«idod by la * 
10 felon* tod maV-feetore 

It la true tbat In your article entitled " A Had Dock 
Oibbettd," uiy njrne doea not occur, but I w la nanej 
a* the amber of Alary t.r/ntl n, in a BUttsey" in 
number of ihe Timk*. and nonce the ehar;<v* xvainat 
ibe author were nailed to tbe heart ol the woman. 

Now, Mr Editor, it makes little diff.-r-nce u me 
what jt.ur personal eellmate may he of my characier, 
or now exeredinit'y mad Mr (JntiLEr may be, agaiual 
me. The mjurloae coneequenc- of falae opinion*, and 
hud fetltng a rente noun you, and not upon ma 

Hut there I* a great public for you. at Journalist*, to 
frighten and abuse " Free Love," ■• Adultery," •' tiroia 
Paaalona," and " Licentiousness." have been roup;<-d 
with my name, by juurself and others I might say 
to Ibe people, read my writing*, tor they are nit de. 
fst.ee. Pot thousands read n newspaper article who 
seldom read books 

1,1' erefore, ask of you apace for a few words of de- 
duce. I do not ask Ihisof tlje Triune, (for the IVvme 
L'ir in Mr. i.biei ky seems so fir dead, that I would 
not hope tor Ibe poor Justice even of an advertisement. 

(■net I claitB to be one with a pure and noble man. 
aI.o Is legally my husband, and who 1a spiritually 
and truly another self. 

We believe in Ireedoni to do all that 1a right, and 111 
no other freedom. 

By Freedom of Love, w« nuar an elevation out of 
a preponderant Sensuality, and a consecration ol the 
whale lave nature or I if-, 10 tbe development ol all 
tbe faculties of men and women, anJ to a wlae psier 
mi). 

Oar watchwords are Freedom, Fraternity, Chastity. 

As liberty was called lieentiouHneee, in tbe nrst days 
of ear R. public, by those who bad no idea of order in 
FreedOB, so Ihe sensual and depraved kelleve that all 
Fteedoin is Love la Ike Infernal Liberty ol Luet. 

Mr. tdttor. for eighteen yeare my food has been 
(rains, reots. fruits, snd milk. 1 bave bcea bath -d 
dairy la pure water, aad I bave been in til thai time 
Ike apostle of Health and Parity to Woman. 

glees my union with my husband, we have labored 
aaoae In Ihe great work of human redemption. 

Such le the true character of those 10 whom H V «ry 
brcese brings aome foul brvatti of slander, some htrsli 
SB4 vile epithet 

WUI men never know good from evil ' Will they 
always •• kill tbe prophets, and atone those who ire 
ssbi aaio then '" M4RY S. oovt; NICHOLS 



THE LECflHJ tKAMOH. 

Oar Exchanges come freighted with annoanoe- 
ments of Courses of Lectures for the approaching 
Winter. In some oaaes, new phases are presented : 
Thna in Newark, Ohio, we notice tbat all tbe cler- 
gymen, with other eminent citizens, have agreed 
to give one Lecture eaeh — mainly historical— the 
whole to be free to all comers. This is an excel- 
lent plan, and we hope will find maoy imitators. 
Thenxpense of weekly lectures, when distinguished 
speakers are Invited from a distance, is beginning 
to oante murmurs, in many quarters — not always 
unjust. Thus, the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, 
having been hired to give twelve Lectures, inde- 
pendent of all societies, in Western cities for $125 
per night, the speculator in brains baa fixed hisprioe 
for Cleveland at fifty cents per ticket, which Is 
complained of— not without reason. Still those 
who don't choose to pay it have perfect liberty to 
stay away. They will then lose nothing by Mr- 
B.'s visit. 

We hear that Mr. Emerson is to lecture in fen 
cities on or near the Mississippi, and that Theo- 
dore Parker will also take a long tour westward. 
Mr. Thackeray opens here with the coming month, 
and will doubtless accept some further invitations, 
at we place him on our last— which is as follows: 



100 

William bl. Thacbbbav New York. 

Ralph Waldo Eat Bason Concord, Mess. 

The Rev. Hsbbv Wabd Bancnra Brooklyn, L. I. 

TheRev.EDWis H. Caarix New York City. 

The Rev. Hcaav Oilbs Boektport, Me. 

Joan Glut Barllagton, Vu 

Bavabd Taylo*. New- York City. 

Rbwih P. WairTLE Boston, Maes. 

The Rev. Cbables Bsacasa Aadover, Maes. 

Pass Bujamib New- York City. 

Wbnobll PHtLLirs B ••too. If us. 

Oaoaaa W. Cohtis New-York City. 

The Rev. William B. Mkbobb New- York City. 

Tbe Rev. T. Btabb Ribo Boston, Mass. 

Hobacs Mass Yellow Springs, O 

William Eldbb Philadelphia, Pa. 

Johb Tromp soa Po«gbkeepeie,tt. Y 

Pabbb Oodwis Nss/York City. 

Or. JoHs O. Nova*. New- fork City. 

E. L. Yovmabs Brooklyn, L. I. 

Tbe Rev. Jobs PicarogT Medford, Mass. 

Tbe Rev. Tbomai W. Hibsibsob Woroeeter, Mass. 

ElisabbtbOabbs Smith Near York City. 

Lvcv Btobs Blackwbll Claolnsaa, Ohio. 

Tbe Ru Rev. Axosao Pottsb Philadelphia. Pa 

The Rev. AaroiasvvB L. Baowa New-York City. 

JoslAB QoiBCV.Jt Bostoa, Mass. 

Tie Rev. Josara P. Trompsoi New York City. 

William H. C. Hesuca Avea, M. T. 

Ulnar D. TaoaaAO Ooaeord, Mass. 

The Rav. Johb Todd Pittsaeld, Mass. 

Dr. J. V. C. BMtTB Boston, af ass. 

William Stab* Manebester. N. H. 

Ths Rev. Thomas R. Bbschbb Elmlra, N. Y. 

Class aca Coea Newbargh, N. Y. 

Osmowd Tirr abt Bprtngneld, Mass. 

William Bollabb da. Jo. 

Pre* Edwabd Hitchcocb. Amheaet, Msas. 

The Rev. Jobs Loan Stamford, (sod. 

Rt. Rev. Bp. Hon lmi Barling' >u, Vu 

William Oobdabb CiaeJauaL\ Ohio. 

Dr. J. B. Boouabih do. da. 

T. W. OaeasBALL de. de. 

The above la a list of the LectureM who 
have hitherto Wan moat widely Invited. We be- 
lieve most of them will lecture more or less the 
ensuing Winter, bnt aeme of them may not. We 
know that several will accept fewer aviations 
than they have done for the past two or three 
Winters. Others wfll doubtless step forward to fill 
their plaaaa, so tar as a demand shall exist, pnsf- 
foring what aaay he deemed adnqnate oompen- 



1856 







audience 
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1866 

Ralph Waldo Em ebpok. Whether considered m 

a scholar, as n thinker, aa a writer, or a< a true and he- 
roic man, those competently acquainted with Mr. F.m- 
omn challenge for him a front place among the choicest 
spirits of any a?e. During his lifetime those elect 
judges who make fame, are tast and widely confirming 
this high estimate, and the great verdict of impartial 
posterity, will ratify and immortalize it. Indeed a 
greaJ many transcendent qualities oombiue to give hi* 
books fascination and value, and to promise a perpetui- 
ty of growing popularity for them. In Germany he is 
extensively read, and an accomplished gentleman is 
now preparing a translation of hia complete works for 
publication there. In England, too, he is already ac- 
knowledged to rank, as a profound sud brilliant essay- 
ist, without » contemporary jieer. And hero, in spite 
of tho proverb. ■' A prophet is without honor in his 
own country." we cannot, eveu within reach of his 
threshold, refrain from saying that his audience, which 
U still " flt,'" though no longer •'few." will enlarge 
with departing generation?, a" long as civilization nnd 
our lunguagc last. 

In Mi. Emerson the loftle-t style of character, and 
the most poetic pnrity of life, u robust common sense, 
a vestal remoteness from all contaminate *crambltngs, 
a singuhir endowment of genius, and a various perfec- 
tion of culture meet. And his writings are hones; ex- 
pressions of himsolf. Kt cry page bonis with the con- 
centrated beams oi beauty, and Is neetareoue witn 
hoarded wealth of learning and experience. Scarcely 
n purngruph which does not contain some aphorism, 
afterwards to cling in the memory, so full of poetry, 
tested experience, and valor, us to be equally useful for 
pleasure, for guidance, and for inspiration. So oilier 
author of modern times has written so many quotable 
tiling.", so many beautiful, condensed, upuphllv.giu.'.. 
each a marvel of skill In expression, and holding a 
funded world of wisdom. In this kind his essays and 
poems are diamond mines, where every -Siubad reader, 
carried l.y the eagles of curiosity, may preciously load 
himself. We cite from recollection three of his 
thoughts us spcclmenH of whut we mean. ■• They are 
not kings who have thrones, but they who know hoiv 
to govern. : "True wisdom is 10 lind the end of the 
journ. y in every step of the roiid." " Tin reward of u 
thing well done Is to have dime it." Maxims like 
these— nil) oiie of which amply repays n whole eve- 
ning's al tent ion — uic accustomed to drop profusely 
from hK vigorous )>cu. 

Mr. ljiiersouk yielding to the solicitation of several 
of l.is friends in Boston, has consented to read six 
lectures in the I'rveiuan 1'laeo Chapel, lie comuivu- 
ees this evening, and his topics, as we iinderstanil. 
are to he : •• F.nglish Civilization,'' "Vrunee." ••SijfiiK 
of the Time-." •■ Meant).'" '■ Thol'oet.'' "The Scholar.'' 
llostovian- should not do themselves the discredit of 
neglect lug the present happy opportunity tor hearing 
their distinguished country mnu unit former ftllo.v- 
eitiwn. A large and cordial greeting undoubtedly 
awaits him in u few years, when this great man shall 
have become wholly historic, to have heard his thoughts 
on these themes from his living li|«. will be matter for 
plcsisunt retrospection. 

To all) who may be Ignorant of Mr. F.iiiersiuiV • 4 »it« J I - 
ties :>s a lecturer, we Hill merely say. that those capa- 
ble of appreciating the operation of a olear and sinewy 
reason, the wizard play of a iieuotratlve iiuaginatlon, 
the subtlest graces ami sincere raciness of compositlou, 
the bracing ejllueiice of a fearless and wholesome con- 
scienee. tho charming music und majesty of an unaf- 
fected voice whose tones vary from the filler melody 
of 11 bugle horn to the deep emphasis of a hutlle ilium. 
have a rare treat before them In those lecture. The) 
will Hud it equally a luxury to listen, and a pro.ii to 
remember: for while no one oftoaer helps hi* auditor* 
■• Meant to ParadUc 
By the stalmay ui unrprtse." 
n.. one makes them richer contribution^ of ethical in- 
ciicment. shrewd observation, and solM truth. 



B&o-MK. It W. KM EUSOV In virtu rcail 

•tx Lectures which have iv t lie ■■n hivr I ill Ituston, wiii, bv 
reqiiert. repeal them 011 THi.'KSD VY EVKNlXti, M.lvoh 
'21. und succeeding Tlmr-'tav 1 vemi ,.— . 111 the t loeiiiin i>l<e • 
< hupel, opposite the Sihcneiim. 1'vk.ci ■ .i.huittln-' "»>• 
to the lours. «JI it); single luke ■ ■- V :.-nts— -iir sale ut tha 
ltookston ot luknor .t- Ki. 1 1-. an • 1 '..• .1. r. 
mill JIWFif 



101 

JTn I7awtiiobne at Lost. ox At a dinner 
Mm ntly given by the Lord Mayor in' London, His 
Lordship proposed "The health 01 Nathaniel 
Hawthorne, Esii , American Consul at Liverpool, 
nnd prosperity tu the I'nited States of America." 
The listingiiishcd Individual whose nam* 1 lie had 
coupled »iih this toast was r.eit only the repre- 
sentative of America in Liverpool, but had at- 
tained for himself an honorable and enviable 
r.niiie in literature. [Cheers. J He should Ik guil- 
ty rl a dereliction of duty if he did n->t express 
his ' !<c Lord Mayor'.; high estimate of the ad- 
mirable works he had enabled tin* country to en- 
joy. He therefore proposed the health "'. Mr. 
Hawthorne and the I'nited States of America. 
[Cheers i 

Mr Hawthorne '.who was received 'with trreat 
cordiality' suio he rose to express his deep sense 
of tho compliment which had been paid him, 
and he assured the company present tliat there 
was no American who could feel so deeply as lie 
did the honor of sitting at the festive board of 
the chief magistrate of the great metropolis of 
'England, and which, in the high and comprehen- 
sive sense of the term, they were bold enough to 
call their metropolis too. [Cheers. I In regard 
to the hir.d feeling they had expressed toward 
him in reference to his literary productions, he 
could only say that if he could pay bat one far- 
thing of the great debt that America owed to the 
intellect of Kngland, he should he nuc!: mire 
satisfied with himself than he had ever yet felt. 



1856 



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Mn. Cholmondeley is an English gentleman of much thought and learn- 
ing, who, after graduating at Oxford (where he studied under that ripe 
scholar and charming poet, Arthur Hugh Clough) and continuing his studies 
in Germany, finally went out to New Zealand a few years ago as a colonist. 
He lived there in a hut on his own farm for a year or two, and some years 
ago returned to England, where he published this hook. It is valuable for 
the facts and suggestions it contains concerning this promising British col- 
ony, but still more so to us, for its speculations on church and state anil 
society. Mr. Cholmondeley writes like a scholar, anil theorizes a good deal, 
but there is great liberality in his philosophy, and a very un-English freedom 
from prejudice, especially with regard to America. He belongs to thai 
small, but sound party in England, who seek the true interests of that nohlo 
state, and abhor alike the Tory conservatism, the Manchester-school vul- 
garity, and the Radical blindness of English politicians. In men of this 
sort lies the hope of England in the crisis of her destinies, which seems fasi 
approaching. 



A DM I T 

rn 

dOii 1AL LI?*.) 

II- l.l.l.MIN Is. tU'l'OKTl'XITll'.S, \NH IMIIKMIs: 

/ ,,„»„;, r. .' uWer v.r t\,lhi» ih-i >■■ «./*.«./ ,../.,•/., immrhi.— 
•-■■svMoivriox I. Cn.w. -II. fin rmxr.il>'!..- -II! I 10 i'osm.'s. 



The lii.l Cuvcrsiitiini will lie t-i>. 11 :it Mm. Ililihelli'* It 1, .W I : - enlruiuf. -J-JS, Wii.li- 

hiiiti.a sir.,1. over .Ion.-., !,,,«. ,111. 1 I'...'-, .mi I'm. -.i.i>- evviuii!.', April 211 uml Hie utliera on 
Kri.luy evening. May 2, ami Tuvwluy, May ■:. ul hall |ii>l -. veil nYlpek. 



TrnilH I'T the inn 
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1856 

Jmn Fiktmoei Coopib. — The re- 
cent production, at tbe Academy of Mnaio, of 
a lyrio drama, founded on one of Cooper's 

Seateat works, renders the following brief 
etch of his merits as an author singularly 
appropriate : " But. tbe writer who, in this 
department, has risen to the highest order of 

Eeatoess, and in a style of narrative entirely 
s own, exhibited the fullest laznrianoe of 
creative vigor in art, is Cooper. With all 
that is impressive, and splendid, and peculiar 
in the condition and character of this conti- 
nent — with the prairie, the solemn lorert, the 
lake, the wild and boundless ocean—his 
genius is associated in enduring connection. 
The influences which, in the silent, mighty 
regions of tbe West, act upon the character 
of man, till they inspire it insensibly with a 
foroe and sublimity kindred to their own ; the 
enthusiasm that ' thrills the wanderer of the 
tracldeee way ' of waters — are subjeots of the 
first magnitude and difficulty in romance ; and 
the pen of Mr. Cooper has been equal to them. 
If you consider the variety of subjects over 
which his fancy has oast an illustrative ray, 
and tbe novelty of the effects which he has 
accomplished in fiction ; if you follow him 
through tbe long range of characters and 
scenes — tho Indian, the Revolutionary soldier, 
tbe Western adventurer, the Bailor, the pirate, 
and many others — in all of which he is supe- 
rior, and in some of which ho is supreme — it 
will be acknowledged that he possesses a oo- 

fnousness and energy of imagination which 
ew in any day have exceeded. Few have 
been gifted with a larger share of tbe idealiz- 
ing faculty, and none have exercised the 
faculty with more exquisite taste and judg- 
meat."— EntfacU 

The Home Journal , 
N.Y. , 4-19-56, p. 4. 



Lecturer* In Itlaaaachnaettc. 

A v%ry oharming lady correspondent 

thus glowingly sketohes the Lecture Season 
at Worocster, Massachusetts, and her two ad- 
mirations, Thackerat and Curtis : — 

" We have had a constant source of excitement 
in our quiet little town this winter, In the shape of 
a daitling array of lecturers. As there are ever 
gradations in all human excellence, the opening 
and closing lectures were the crowning points of 
the glittering cycle. If we were not trying so 
hard to cultivate nonchalance, the advent of Thack- 
eray might have been an ovation, or, mayhap, 
' agitation,' in the O'Connell sense. As it was, we 
have certainly had no such excitement here since 
Charles Dickens, in all the glory of a crimson velvet 
waistcoat, received tbe delighted citizens in the 
house of a gentleman, since received by death. 
Though Thackeray did not pass through the same 
ordeal of congratulation, his visit was none the 
less a triumph — for the people received him with 
open hands, and something in them. Truly of 
English novelists it may be said, that they are of 
the ' race d' Agamemnon qui ne finit jamais,' and 
in this train of time's elect how refulgent is the 
name of him who baa given to the world a charac- 
ter which every man since Samson has felt existed 
among them, and struggled to express, but in vain, 
till limned forth by his master hand. As Irving 
has given us the only legend of later days, so has 
Thackeray enriched the Immense gallery of life 



102 
portraits, by placing therein peerless, inimitable 
' Becky Sharp,' as perfect a creation of her kind aa 
'Iago.' His lecture was, 'Life and Manners in 
the Reign of George the Third,' and it was a rich 
mosaic of history and biography — passiog through 
every gradation of wit and pathos ; while his ban 
■mail formed a chain of glittering points which me- 
mory treasures up as the most laughing earnest- 
nesa Even with De Quincey's gorgeous language 
about ' Sarah Lennox' and the king, I could not 
but receive his effect, and description, toe — aa ' dif- 
ferent yet the same;' but when he, with fine 
pathetic touches, spoke of the mournful eclipse of 
the monarch's last years, I saw Thackeray only 
with the eyes of my heart shedding tears of manly 
grief (God bless him for it I) over the sad spectacle 
of a ruined household, and the downfall of as genial 
and kind a woman as ever ruled the literary or 
fashionable world. What better praise — when 
1 frionds, like flies, fled 'with the sunshine.' Are 
we not to believe that his satire is as the ' light- 
ning, which holds at heart most rich and blessed 
rain 1' 

" The last lecture was by George W. Curtis, who 
gives one the impression of having boon surrounded, 
from bis cradle, by the softest, sweetest influences, 
till manhood beat a golden measure from tbe noble 
metal of bis life. All lovers of intellectual bril- 
liancy, and admirers of colloquial sword-play, tem- 
pered by an indescribable gentUlesat, will be gra- 
tified in hearing the gifted HowadjL Curtis is the 
American Charles Lamb, for he possesses, in an 
eminent degree, the quaint, fanciful oonceita tbe 
delicate, fitful pathos, the sparkling cross-lights 
of humor, and the capricious graces of nar- 
rative, which distinguished the gentle ' Elia ;' 
while, through all, the nobilities of heart and 
mind are detected rather than displayed. The 
melody of his voice Is roost touching, and is a 
study of musical intonation. It would seem as if 
the ' harps of heaven played round his tongue' to 
make his speech one 'colloquy divine;' and that 
alone being the rarest felicity of expression — with 
an opulence of happy illustration — I hardly won- 
der that the spell measured itself against years, 
and caused a lady to remark, ' I never see Curtis, 
but I think of George Douglas, of Locbleven, in the 
" Abbot" '—partly from an old habit, of childhood 
and youth, of assigning Ideal characters to the 
real. The lectures began and ended with kings— 
for Dickens reigns supreme over tbe noblest roalm 
under the sun, and his subjects are all of the ' un- 
derstanding heart' I oannot describe that triumph- 
ant tribute ; enough for me to say, that Curtis has 
given a wealthier radiance to the ' Aureola' now 
glistening on the gifted head of Charles Dickens " 

Ibid . . 4-26-56, p. 2. 

William Howitt upon Walt Whitman. 

— Walt Whitman's " Leaves of Grass" have been 
republished in England. William Howitt, in the 
London Dispatch, speaks of the work in high terms 
of praise : 

We have before us one of the most extraordinary 
specimens of Yankee intelligence and American ec- 
centricity in authorship it is possible to conceive. 
It is of a genus bo peculiar as to embarrass us, and 
has an air at once so novel, so audacious, and so 
strange, aa to verge upon absurdity, and yet it 
would be an injustice to pronounce it so, as the 
work is saved from this extreme by a certain mastery 
over diction not very easy of definition. What 



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1856 

The one on Franco seemed to givo the least 
satisfaction ; while that on Poetry was the 
most acceptable to those who arc in fullest sym- 
pathy with him. But he cannot open his 
mouth in public on any subject without charm- 
ing a cultivated taste by his keen perception, 
his racy wit, his poetical fancy, his unaffected 
eloquence, his spiritual insight. The passage 
of years, his comparative withdrawal from 
busy life, the stillness of his tree-girt home, 
have not chilled his utterance in the least : and 
judging by the very mixed character of his 
deeply attentive audiences he has gained in 
public favor, has convincod the moat fastidious 
and conservative that ho has that word to say 
which they all need to hear, while in the far 
West ho has found troops of admiring, eager 
and receptive scholars. 

8peeoh of Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

At a meeting held in Concord, Mass., on the 26(h 
inst., to considrr the outrage upon Mr. Sumner, 
Mr. Emirsok made the following remarks: 

Mr. Chairman : — 1 aympathiae heartily with the 
apirit of the reaolutiona. The eventa of the latt 
few yeara and montha and daya have taught ua the 
leaaona of centunea. I do not aee how a barbaroua 
community and a civilized community can constitute 
one State. I think we must get rid of slavery, or 
we mu«t get rid of freedom. Life has no parity of 
value in the Free State and in the Slave State. In 
one.it ia adorned with education, with skillful labor, 
with nrta, with long prospective interests, with aacred 
family tiea, with honor and juatice. In the other, 
life is a fever ; man ia an animal, given to pleasure, 
frivolous, irritable, apending hia daya in hunting 
and practicing with deadly weapons, to defend 
himself against hia alavea and againat hia com- 
panions brought up in the aame idle and dangeroua 
way. 

Such people live for the moment ; they have 
properly no future, and readily risk on every pasaion 
• life which ia of amall value to themaelvea or to 
others. Many yeara ago, when Mr. Webster waa 
challenged in Washington to a duel by one of these 
madcaps, his friends came forward, with prompt 
good sense, and aaid, auch a thing waa not to be 
thought of; Mr. Webster's lite waa the property of 
hia friends and of the whole country, and waa not 
to be naked on the turn of a vagabond's ball. Life 
and life are incommensurate. The whole Slate ol 
South Carolina does not now offer any one or any 
number of persona who are to be weighed for a mo- 
ment in the scale with auch a person aa the meanest 
of them all haa now struck down. The very con- 
ditions of the game must always he, — the worst life 
staked againat the best. It is the best whom they 
desire to kill. It is only when they cannot answer 
your reasons, that they wish to knock you down. 
If, therefore, Massachusetts could send to the Senate 
a belter man than Mr. Sumner, his death would be 
only so much the more quick and certain. Now, 
as men's bodily strength, or wiih knives and guns, 
Is oot usually in proportion to their knowledge and 
mother wit, but oftener in the inverse ratio, it will 
only do to tend foolish persona to Washington, if 
you wish them to be safe. The outrage is the more 
shocking from the ailtgshuly pure character of its 
victim. Mr. Somrfer*aj|faajiiion is exceptional in ita 
honor. He had not taken his degrees in the caucus 
and in hack politics. It ia notorious that, in the 
tony lime when hia election was pe tiding, he refuted 
•slake s single step to secure it. He would notW 
much aa go up to the Staie House to shake hands 
with this or that person whose good-will waa 
reckoned important by his friends He was elected. 
It was a homage to character and talent. In Con- 
gress, he did not rush into • pany position. He sat 
silent snd studious. His friends, 1 remember, were 
told that tbey would find Sumner a man of the 
world, like the rest; 'tis quite impossible to be at 



103 

Washington and not bend , he will bend aa the rest 
have done. Well, he did not bend. He took hia 
position, and kept it. He meekly bore the cold 
shoulder from some of his New England colleagues, 
the hatred of his enemies, the pity of the indifferent . 
cheered by the love snd respect of good men with 
whom he acted, and has stood for the North, s little 
in advance of all the Norih, and therefore without 
adsfa m ie support. He hss never faliered to. his 
■sslsftinancs of justice and freedom. He hss none 
hss sis ike large expectation of hia friends lh his 
increasing ability snd his manlier tone. 

I have heard that some ol his political friend* tax 
him with indolence oi negligence in relusing to make 
electioneering speeches, or otherwise to bear Ins pan 
in the labor which party organization requires. I 
say it to hia honor. But more to his honor ore the 
faults which his enemies lay to his charge. I think, 
air, if Mr. Sumner had any vices, we should be likely 
to hear of them. They hove fastened their eyes 
like microscopes now for five years, on every act, 
word, manner and movement, to find a flaw ; and 
with what result I Mis opponents accuse htm neither 
of drunkenness, nor debauchery, nor job, nor pecu- 
lation, nor rapacity, nor personal aims of any kind. 
No; but with what? Why, beyond this charge, 
which it is impossible wos ever sincerely made. 
that he broke over the proprieties of debiie, I find 
him uccused of publishing hia opinion of the 
Nebraska conspiracy in a letter to the People of the 
United States, with discourtesy. Then, that he is 
an abolitionist ; — as if every sane human being were 
not an abolitionist, or a believer that all men should 
be free. And the third crime he stands charged 
with, is, that hia speeches were written before they 
were spoken ; which of course must be true in 
Sumner's case, as it waa true of Webster, of Adams, 
of Calhoun, of Burke, of Chatham, ol Demosthenes, 
of evtry first-rate speaker that ever lived. It is the 
high compliment he pays to the intelligence of (he 
Senate ond the country. When the same reproach 
was cnsl on the first orator of ancient times by some 
cavtler of his day, he said, " I should be ashamed 
to come with one unconsidered word before such 
an assembly." 

Mr. Chairman, when I think of these most small 
faults 09 the worst which parly hatred could allege, 
I think I may borrow the language which Bishop 
Burnet applied to Sir Isaac Newton, and say that 
Charles Sumner" has the whiles! soul I ever knew." 
Well, sir, this noble head, so comely and so wise, 
must be the target for a pair of bullies lo beat with 
clubs' The murderer's brand shall stamp their 
lorehesds wherever they may wander in ihe earth. 
But I wish, sir, that the high respects of i his meeting 
shall be expressed lo Mr. Sumner; that a copy ol 
the reaolutiona that have been read may be lorwarded 
to him I wish that he may know the fhuddc r of 
horror which ran through all this community on the 
first tidings of thia brutal attack — l,et him hear 
that every man of worth in New England loves his 
virtues; that every nioiher thinks of him os ihe 
protector of families ; that every triend ol fieedom 
thinks him the friend of Ireedom And if our arms 
at this distance cannot defend him from assassins, 
we confide the defence of a lile so precious, to 
all honorable men and true patriots, and to the 
Almighty Maker of men. 

A Suave Girl Purchased in Rev. H. W. 
Beecher's Church.— A remarkable and ex- 
citing scene was enacted in Plymouth Church, 
Brooklyn, on Sunday last, a full account of 
which we copy from the New York Tribune 
of Monday : 

" At the conclusion of the aermon yp»tertltty 
morning, the Iter. Henry Ward Beeclicr an- 
nounced to hi* congregation that he was about 
to perform an action of a most extraordinary 
nature, which ho would prefuce by reading a 
portion of the 12lh chapter of Matthew. He 
accordingly read the 10th, 11th and 12th ver- 
ses of that chapter, after which lie proceeded 



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1856 

declared that she should not go Uck to a life 
of Slavery, she buried her fiico in her hand- 
kerchief and wept aloud. As the collectors 
posed Among the nudience, the ulutes were 
actually heaped up with the token* of substan- 
tial sympathy j one lady even took the jewel- 
ry from her person mid cast into the fund. 
'I he amount collected on the spot was $784, 
which, besides completing the sum necevtury 
for the purchase of Sarah, will also rescue 
Iter child, a boy of four years, who U now in 
bondage." 

Dedham Gazette , Dedham, 
Mass., 6-7-56, p. 2. 



(m Our Own Correspondent. 

Boston, Monday, July 28, leVtf. 

English Trmitt, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, the 
long expected latest work of the great Trauseen- 
< ieita ist, will be ready for publication on the first 
of Angnrt. I hnve bad the pleasure of reading an 
esrh copy. It is a volume of i'.Oft pages, written 
in s singularly compact style, in short, sharp, de- 
eioive sentences, aluiost without ornament of any 
kind, yet betraying throughout every mark of the 
seven ft intellectual and literary labor. No other 
work of Mr. Emerson's approaches itin eoostruet- 
iveness. Tt is a thorough analysis of English char- 
acter, which is considered mostly from a highly 
favorable point of view, and discussed in the tone 
of a sensible practical man of the world, aud not 
in that of a poet or philosopher, and still less in 
that of a historian or a statesman. It isuot in the 
least IrauieeudemUl — whatever the phraee may 
mean. 

Land, race, manners, character, wealth, aris- 
tocracy, religion, literature, the universities, and 
The Times newspaper, are the chief topics. 
There is little account of persons in the book. 
Laiidor. Coleridge, Wordsworth and Carlyle only 
are described. Landortbus: 

" On the i:>th of May I diued with Mr. Lander. I 
fennel him noble and courteous, living in a don't of 
pictures, at 1. is Villa (iherirdesea, a tin.- bonne, com 
u ancii t; a beautiful Undecape. I had inferred from 
bis bouts, or magnified rroui straw anecdotes, an im- 

rreofion of Achillean wrath— -an untamable petulance, 
do sot koow whether the imputation were JusL or 
rot; bu< certainly on this Mavday his courtesy veiled 
that haughty mind, and he was the most patient and 
*gextle of hoMts. He praised the beautiful cyclamen 
which grows all about, Klorerce; he admired Wash- 
ington; talked of Woldeweitb, Ryroc, Malinger, 
Beaumont and Fletcher. In art, he love* the Greeks, 
and iu sculpture, them only. He prefers lue Venus to 
ever) thing else, and after that, the head of Alexander 
in the gallery here. He prefers John ot Bologna to 
Michael Angelo; in paiiititg, KatiV-||.' ; and shares 
tbe mowing taste lor EVriigiuo and lb" early masters. 
Tl'e Greek liis>otie« be thought the only good; and 
after them, Voltaiie's. fie jiesteied me with Mouthey. 
But who is Soutbey ' 

"He glontied "Lord Chcste-i field nv.re ti.-in wa^ 
Beoeefary. and u» dervaluol B'irke, cm! t'.ndtrvalv id 
Scc-rutes; designated aa three of the creates: ni'msn. 
Wsshiigton, l'bneion, and Timoieoii, nm ■•!. »s onr 
potLolo^ists, in their list*, select tbi three nrtb.- six 
bes". peats ' for a small orchard;' ami did not even 
omit to nmatk the umiltr termination of their names. 
"Mr. Landorcuviios t i its height tin- love of freak 
which the Engti'h delight to iuduliji . n« if to signalize) 
their coumandirg fr-udoin. fie ban n wonderful 
binin, despotic, viol« nt, and inoxhuiutilile. meant firn, 
Kildier, by what eb»nee couveit-d to li-tln:s. it; which 
there is not a style nor a tin - not known 'o him, yet 
with an English appetite, for action and heroes. He ;s 
Mtetigcly undervalue'! in Knglnnd; U unlly ignored; 
aid H.melimss savagely attacked ir the reviews. The 
crit c.irni may be right or wroirg, and is quickly forgot- 
ten; but year after year tbe scholar must sti.l go back 
to Landor for a multitude of elegant sen; nno-—for 
wiiuiem, wit, and indigt atlon that are nnf orgetabb " 
Coleridge Mr. Emerson described as 
" A short, thick old man, witti bright nine e»yes ail 
Ace clear complexion, leaning on his cane. He took 
fluff freely, whioh presently soiled his cravat and 
i.ent black suit. H» a?ked whether 1 knew Al-ton, 
and tpoke warmly of his merits and doings wiion 
be knew him in Rome ; what a master of 
the Titiuoct-que he was, A C He spoke of Dr. 



104 

Charnir.g. It was an unspeakable misfortune that 
he shenld have turned ont a Unitarian afor 
all. On this he burnt into e declnrun'iott on the f>Uy 
and ignorance of Uuitaiiani'tix— its bi;{li uuivasonahle- 
res*. When be stopped to take hrenta, I iot.-i|">-e-1, 
that ' While 1 highly valued all his cxul-.na'ioue, I was 
bound to tell him I was born and bred a I nitsrisu. 
'Yes,' he laid ' I supposed so;' aud eon! imuwl n,t re - 
fore. II« ,«id be kn.w'all about L'ni"u -a.ii.iuj per- 
fectly well, became be had ouoa been aIT.-.itarian,.vrt 
knew what quackery it was. He had b. or. ctfiert tni 
Huire 8tar of |)Di»*ii*»l""'. 

" i was in bis compeny for about an hour, but find 
it impoKsibh to recall the largest part .>: I, is diseonrse, 
whief was oft< n like so many print»'d pe.agiaphs ,n 
bis book* — perhaps the same— so readily eiid b= fall 
into tertuiii commonplaces. As 1 might hi.vc foreseen, 
tbe vi^it was rather a spectacle thau .-. conversation, 
e>f no use beyond tVe satHfiction of my < uri jsity H>- 
waf olu and preoccupied, and eould uo; bi-ni to u c_ - w 
companion and think with him." 

At the time of Mr. Emerson's first visit to En- 
glsnd, Carlyle was living on a farm in the south 
of Scotland. 

"I found the house anj'd desolate bea'henry hills, 
where the lonely s-.-bolai nourished hi- nimbty beau. 
Cailjk- was a man from bis youth — an au'.iior who did 
not need to bide from his renders, and a* °h-m ute a 
man of tbe world, unkne'Wn and exited on that h : .ll- 
tatm, as if holding on bis oxn term? whn* is he.-,t in 
London. He was tall and gaunt, with a i li-i'like 
blow, .elf porresstJ, and holding his extraordinary 
powe is ot" convetsation m cn^y command: c m/lng to 
hi- uoitL't il accent wit" evident relisn; ij!'ofl:vely 
sneexleittr, anil with a itrea::iiug humor w • i. rl <i ed 
everything he looked up->3. Few wore 'L- objects 
aid lovely the man; 'no- a person to *p«al.- to wi' .in 
►iTterii noles except tlu mini-tor of Duii-cori :' so that 
be*»k?" irt-vi'ablv made bia topics. 

•' He bad nanus of l.ino^ii for all t be mn>;«-.s famil 
iur to Los discourse. Black weiod's wis the ' sand 
magar.iiie; Frawr's nearer approach t/i pi>^,iili'y of 
VVlisn too ti\'"."', praise 
d hugely to 
by his pi£. He had sp-*nt 
much time and cootrivajjoe, in cobfinn.g the poor boast 
to one inclostire in his pen; but pig, by gre ir strokes 
ot judgment, had found oi:f bow to let a noard down, 
,-ii-rt had foiled him. 

" His renoing hod bei n niultifar.ons. Tristam 
Shai oy was one eif his tiist Imoks after Robinson Oru- 
eoi - , and Kobertsou's Aim n. a an early favorite. Rous- 
seau's Couii ssi.iua bed discover - d to bin" that l>' was 
irnt a dutoe; and it was now t**n years •!::•■• h« iiad 
le.uio t Germnn, by the advi " of a man who told 
him be would find in that lanirua^s whi" he. »-Hiited. 
He took despairiug or saiine-al viewn of literature a; 
this moment; reoouu'cd the it credible snm.^ ps'd iL 
ore j ear by tin great bookseili rs tot pufliiiL,". .llenc" 
it i-i'Uier tin t no newspaper ir.iru.-ted notit, no books 
ate iK)iubt, aud the h„oLie)leri are i-n t 1 e eve of 
babki '.ip>e-y,'' 

Mr. LuieTsou called >>u Wordsvvort). i<l Kydsl 
Mount. 

"His daughti'is called in their fs.tlier, a ^liin. 
e'd« '.'j, wbiie-baiitd U-'bd, an' \ reposttedn^, aiid dt-ii i- 
orco t'y gr'-'*n pe>gnlcs. He sat do.ra. ana t.i'-k' 1 v. ■•■..■ 
Great simplicity. He had jnsf returned f.-oin a jo uiny 
His heal'h was ReaK), but he hu'l broken a t.'.irti by n 
fall, vli-u w.a king wi,h two lawyeis, i.i'i; luifl sail 
ttat hi- was trlmi it did not happeu t.-ri.y y.ars ngo; 
when .-.pot. tbey bad pif.ined his philosophy. 

"Tbe e-< livti.-at OIi tuti'ed oe books. Lucre tins he 
fsixo.'sn tsr higher poet, than \ iiijil I ioejioroil if he 
hud ri itU CuiKlt's critical p.rtieles ami traikslitions. He 
said In- t bough', him scrm times iif.-.B*. He pnieecded 
♦i. ibine: Geeth-'s Wilbnlm Moiner lmittily. It wi' 
fi'U of all manne r of fornication. It was like the cms 



inc of fliee m the air. He had nerct »one i further tbaa 
the 6rst part; so disgusted wa* be rb.nt he tht ew thn 
be ok acrees tbe roosn. I cVprse-eted U.-M WT *' 1 h . «ssl 
ea.d what I could for the better part* of ti e book, and 
he ceurtiocelv promised to look at it a.-ram. Car- 
lyle be taid, wrote moe'. obsmrely. He wa.« rlcver 
*-- sympathies of ever>b©dr. 
eonve-nation, Words worth 



1856 



lile »us the ' mud maga/ite.' 

ofauy genius annoyed him, be prof- 

ndikire I he talent shown 



and deep, bat he defied the 

" To fudge from a single 

made tie in.pression of a 



a narrow and very Raj,tiah 
n.ii.d- of ene who pain for his rare elevation by gener^ 
^menel. ndTo.foVu.it y. Off fcls own beat, to op-s 
ions wcee of no value. It m no* very rare to fiH pjr- 
•ons lovirtr syror^ay a^.l ease who exp.ate'thrnrde- 
p^,„n- frcm tie con ioa in ore direction by their «•- 
forinity in every other.'' _ _ . 

IN. Y . Ttwi*» 





O 






m 




1856 105 1856 

For the purpose of saving time ami trouble in replying to inquiries in relation to I he enterprise started a lew 
JIMP since at this place, under the corporate name of " B \nn\\ Bay Psion," the following slatement is printed:— 

The beautiful estate of " Eagleswood "— so designated by its former proprietor, from th.- tact tlial it had long 
h»n the a»)ode of some venerable eagles, Vhieli returned regularly with every coining spring to build their nests in its 
woods— is situated at the upper end of RaVkan Bay, within tlic limits of Perth Autboy, one mile from tin' steuinboiil 
iMhling, and has its southern front, for nearly half a mile, on navigable water, open, with rare ami brief exceptions, 
»<> TeweU from all charters, for the whole year. Its shore is abrupt and picturesque, fringed for most of the dis- 
tonce with woods and shrubbery, indented with green and wooded ravines, from <>ue of which rise on the east side, 
high hills covered with noble oak, tulip, hickory, chestnut, gum, cedar, and other forest trees, extending back from 
the ravine, and forming a natural Park of nearly a mile in length,— from the Bay on the south to the New Brims- 
**k turnpike on the north,- diversified with deep shady dells, and steep hills and gentle slopes, susceptible at small 
'•ost of Tery great artistic improvement and embellishment. 

The cultivated portion of the estate is gently uudulating — rising toward the north, and affording, from the high- 
"points, many fine building sites, with extended and beautiful views. On one side is seen the ancient and quiet city 
« Perth Amboy— formerly the seat of the old colonial government, and described by Hie early Euglisu *ettlers, 
M » "sweet, wholesome and delightful place," having "the finest uir to live upon in the universe," the 'intended Lon- 
*» of America,*' &c, &c (See Whitehead's History of Perth Ainbay, &c.) The venerabh gubcraatoria! 
rosnsiou (now occupied as a summer boarding house) still stands conspicuous rising from the mid-: c! lefty trees and 
■• broad green lawn Beyond is seen Statcn Island, and still beyond, in the distance the blue range of the Save 
"ok hills On the south, lies the Raritan Pay, with ;t- busy, changing panorama, o. ^e.iroer. anH wlir.e craft, 
r wh pass op and down the river at all hours of the day, within ;i tone's throw of the diorr 

This estate was purchased it few years since hy n few individuals, desirous of making for themselves pleasant 
COn, >try homes, sufficiently accessible to Sew York and sufficiently near to each other lo afford many of the ndvan- 
••foof city life, and at the same t'.me sufficiently distant from the city to secure for themselves and their children 
"•many enjoyments and the healthful influences, moral and physical, of refined country life, without the isolation ol 
0l *«»ry country homes. A good school, combining the most compleie appointments and arrangements for thorough 
•cation, phyaical as well as literary, scientific, artistic, social and spiritual— was another primary object 

*or the convenience of holding the joint property and improving it judiciously, selling and conveying bnildiug 

**> and erecting a sehool house and other buildings for public use, 8 simple business organization was formed, in 

■*°Wance with the general corporation law of New Jersey, under the name of 'RARITAS BAY UNION,' 

IbMiipthliirfor'-the different owners being represented by shares, and a Board of Directors appointed for iln- 
■■■•gement of the corporate business. 

*h« subscriptions to the stock, uiuouutiug to about $70,000, have been paid in in cash and appropriated to the 
■aseof the property, the improvement of the farm, the park, lawn, &c — to, preparations for an abundant sup 
\| fruit of all descriptions, and the erection of a fine block of brown stone dwellings. -2'>i feel loug, ^ and :> sto- 
""go, of tasteful Architecture, arranged for families in flats or suites of apartments on the Kuropeau plan, healed 
"*•*, supplied throughout with pure spring water, aud prepared t<> be lighted in a few weeks with gas ; in short, 
r" * l ~ ldf the conveniences of modern city dwellings. Connected with this block are a Refectory, Bakery and 
^^"*y ( enabling families so disposed to banish from their homes many of the cares of housekeeping, without fore- 
going its comforts and privacy. One end of tfus> block is litted up in the best manner as a school house, with a pub- 
lic Hall for worship, and for musical and dancing soiree?, rustic festivals, dramatic representations, and other re 
creations fitted to elevate the taste, soften and refine the manners, and gratify, innocently aud healthfully, the natural 
appetiie for amusement, which, if either arbitrarily restrained, or left wholly unregulated, i- equally injurious to the 
highest culture. A nen mid spacious gymnasium will be completed in a feav weeks 

The present term of ihe school, which is under the charge of Tiif.o. D. Wf.u>, will close on the uOth June, and 

on the day and evening following there will be a public exhibition and some dramatic performances by the pupils 

Arrangements are now in progress. for rc-opening the school with greatly improved conditions on the 1st of October 

next, for the reception of boarding scholars, in addition to the resident children For partienlars see Mr. Weld'i 

circulars at the book store of *'. Siif.pard A: Co., l.">2 Fulton street. N. Y 

Suites of rooms for families, and rooms for single persons, will tie rented for the summer or for a shorter time 
with board at a good public table, in an airy and pleasant dining hall Apartments furnished or unfurnished, maj !»- 
bired by the year, with meals in the dining hall or served at home. 

Among other attractions of Kagleswood, ns a place of residencj, may be mentioned the regular weekly Lyceum 
meetings, with lectures and discussions ; frequent social and festal gatherings, free to all ; Sunday meetings fur 



1856 106 1856 

worship and free exchange of earnest thought : (also, churches of the various religious denominations ut Perth Ambov, 
a mile distant,) a valuable circulating library --opportunities lor nil— old as well as young— of pursuing in Conner 
lion with the school cIofscs, urwith private teachers, various branches of study, and of observing the agricultural, 
horticultural, and other improvements ..roinir on upon the estate: facilities for snlt water bathing, boating, tislnn:. 
gymnastic exercises, &<*., Ac 

A large stone building, GO by 10 feet, with a j.'ood steam engine, fronting on navigalilc water, is offered to rent 
and fut'ilitic* will bi- afford"d for the e-lablishmenl of such branches of the useful and line Arts, and sndi rural iwl» s 
tries as will increase the desirableness of the place for purposes of education and residence. 

Fine VILLA AND CQ'JTAtJK SITES, aud an acre or two of laud with eaeh, if desired, for garden, frnil 
orchard Ac, are ofl'ered for sale, at moderate prices, to persons desiring quiet country homes, a little over i hour? 
from New York, by Steamboat, and soon to be reduced nearly one half, by the Staten Island Rnil Hond. now in 
progress 

The Steamer Thomas Hist leaves the fool of llobinson St., N. R ., at 3.1 V. M.. and the I'a^au; leaves tb' 
foot of Barclay street, V. R , at 2J V. Al Fan-, 121 eents. The Philadelphia boat, John I'ottik. Ichtcs p»"cr v 
I, \. R., at fi A. M. tonchinir at Perth Amhny. These tbr.-r- boats Ipiive Perth Ambov .it 7, 7.1 ami n A M |or 
New York. 

Travellers North and South can pass an evening and night at Eagleswuod, take a salt water bath and a qw e ' 
eoiutry deep, and be in Philadelphia or New York early the next morning, with but little loss of time. 

For further particulars apply to the Directors, 

MARCUS SPRING, 22 BROAD ST., N. Y 

JNO. MAXWELL, 69 WALL ST., X Y. 

A. G. WELD, 

WM. R. SMITH, J- EAGLES WOOD, Perth Ambo* 

V. O. REAL), 



Kaolkswoou, Perth Ambov, June I, 18a(>. 




JUST r U 11| 1 S H E JJ 
ENGLISH TRAITS. 

In ire volum*, 12mo. Trico HI. 

1bl» » II! undoubtedly ho tbc roost widely popular nMba 
»u(L i-t ■» woi »». 1 he snhlict, however bacsroyed h> otaer 
writer*, urniilico an atfmlm'ilc Qcid for a philosophic ol> 
Knn like En.cr*on. 1'robably no Midi critical imlmh of 
rii«> J 1 ", bor character, iniiltutlonn, her clomi-nn 01 
>t "»mtb »Dii oi weakness, hat ever bron wade 

But tti«- form of Ui6 work is not pretentions: It Is a series 
of *k* tche*. written lu Uie author's peculiarly racy and Id- 
iomatic tryle In which on occiiaioral ful^ltonx phrase or 
epithet expresses as mnrU a* a pa^* "i prosnk iescrlptlo*i. 

— ±LSO— 

Kaa»rs»K*» I'Nirlftf \V«rlc«, Six Vol«a«r», 
lu \crious ttf !> -1 of Mrduik. 



rjan.i.ips. sampson 

iaHi.n»riF.i:s. 

_*^ K: 3 Wiaurr street. 

an M STi.Tb 



A <ii. 



literani JJatfai 



English Traits, by B. W. Emkbaon. (Published 
by Phillips, Sampaon, and Co.) The fame of Mr. 
Emerson as a poet and • transcendental philoso- 
pher, will naturally attract no small degree of at- 
tention to this volume. Readers who have known 
him only aa a thinker of singular boldness and 
subtlety, if not of a wide and vigorous grasp, will 
be curious to discover tho effect produced on his 
mind by the study of a people so positive, so prac- 
tical, and so unimaginative as the English. In 



the description of their manners, he enters upon a 
new sphere of thought and illustration. The sub- 
ject presents a remarkable contrast to his favorite 
themes of discussion. It brings him from the ideal 
regions, in which he delights to expatiate, into a 
world of the moat solid realities. But he applies 
to its treatment the tame qualities which charac- 
terize hi* previous compositions. His writings all 
show a rare power of observation, an unrelenting 
fidelity in the description of material facts, a saga- 
cious insight into human motives and character, 
aad Innumerable felicities of expression, which 
often operate aa a surprise, combined with a love 
of fanciful analogies, a tendency to rash general- 
ization*, and a total absence of consecutive order 



and development. His thoughts stand to each 
other, not in the relation of genesis, but of juxta- 
position. They betray no vital, mutual affinities, 
like the leaves, blossoms, and fruitage of a tree, 
but are placed side by side, like the brilliant speci- 
mens in a cabinet of gems. We are not led ou- 
ward by a gradual ascent to the sight of new points 
of beauty in a harmonious landscape, but aro truns- 
-ported, as bv some strange power, into the midst 
of magic scenes, each of which has no connection 
with the preceding, and is often repeated with 
some slight change of feature, which gives an ex- 
pression of novelty to tho whole aspect. 

Mr. Kuierson's mind is more disposed to intro- 
spection than to the contemplation of external 
facts. To him, the material universe is merely a 
type of spiritual boiug. Events are without sig- 
nificance, except as the exponent of a universal law. 
His interest in material beauty is derived from the 
spiritual principle, which it represents. England, 
with ber wonderful developments in the practical 
order, is an object of curious study, as illustrating 
the character of her people. Hi* accurate observa- 
tion of the surface never contents him with the su- 
perficial. He values the experience of life as it leads 
to the discovery of laws. Hence, in this work, the 
phases of English society are always held strict- 
ly subordinate to their illustration of the English 
mind. It should, therefore, be read less as a descrip- 
tive journal Of incidents, than as a commentary on 
character. In this point of view, its value is sin- 
gularly enhanced by the justice and impartiality 
which strongly mark the intellect of the author. 
Itosna n ever wrote with a less degree of prejudice. 
With a temperament of habitual coldness, bis love 
of truth amounts almost to a passion. We presume 
that every word in this volumo has been weighed 
with a cans and deliberation, as if tho destiny of the 
age depended on it* accuracy. One proof of this is 
the interval which haa elapsed between the dato of 
his travel* and the publication of his volume. The 
first visit to England, on which It was founded, wus 
! made more than twenty years ago, while it is rusar- 



1856 

ly ten yean since bu return from lil« latest tour in 
that country. 

The general impression of England licrc ^iv n n by 
Mr. Emerson is favorable to her character for in- 
dustrial advancement, the possession of solid ma- 
terial comforts, and integrity and honor in the pri- 
vate relations of life ; but the picture which he has 
drawn is by no means flattering to the intellect of 
the nation, or her sense of probitv*aud justice in 
public affairs. On the whole, he regards England 
as the best of actual nations. But it is poor and 
imperfect, with all her comparative superiority. 
It can make no pretensions to ideal harmony; it 
represents no divine or noble thought; it does not 
approach the integral symmetry of nature; but is 
a piece of motley patchwork — an old pile built in 
different ages, with repairs, additions, and make- 
shifts. The mind of the English is in a state 
of arrested development. They do not occupy 
themselves on matters of general and lasting im- 
port, but on the goods of a corporeal civilization, 
which perish in the using. Their temperament is 
offensive from its want of facility, and is not re- 
lieved by their external refinement. Thoir habit 
of thought is one of sleepy routine. They are 
cramped within narrow limits, and have no wish 
to break their fetters. They have tho instinct of 
the tortoise, to hold hard to the ground with his 
claws lest he should be thrown on his back. As an 
animal, the Englishman is of the best breed — a 
wealthy, juicy, broad-chested creature, steeped in 
ale and good cheer, and a little overloaded by his 
flesh. He has, to a great degree, the qualities uf 
mettle and bottom, which be most values in his 
horse. N'o fighting-cock shows more pluck. 

In the field of literature and art the English of 
the present day occupy a lower piano than that 
which was held by the greatest names among their 
ancestors. Tor two centuries England was phil- 
osophical, religious, poetic. Tho national mind 
flowered in every faculty. But these heights of 
genius could not be maintained. They were fol- 
lowed by a meanness and a descent of tho mind 
into lower levels. Thcro were no wings to thought. 
High speculation died out. Locke, to whom the 
meaning of ideas was unknown, !>ccame the type of 
philosophy. The later English have no insight 
of general laws. In the region of pure science 
they move with timid steps. They accumulate 
mountains of facts, without tho inspiration to 
search for the pivotal law, around which they re- 
volve, as a bad general demands myriads of men 
and miles of redoubts to compensate for his want 
of courage and conduct. Bacon is almost unique 
among tho prose writers of his ceuntry in the facul- 
ty of generalization. Milton, who farmed the ta- 
ble-land for tho transition of English genius from 
tho summits of Shakspcare, rarely used this priv- 
ilege, especially in prose. Eor a long time after- 
ward, it is not found In English literature. Iturko 
was addicted to a certain mode of generalizing, but 
his thoughts have neither the depth nor the com- 
pass of tho earlier school. Hume's abstractions are 
as little profound as wise. Doctor Johnson's orac- 
ular sentences have slight worth, except in their 
tone of feeling. Among recent writers, Mr. Emer- 
son finds the type of English genius in llallam. 
In bis history of European literature, he steadily 
denies the expansive element by which literature 
is created. His eye does not reach to tiio ideal 
standards. His verdicts are all dated from Lon- 
don. He passes in silence the more profound mas- 
ters, and iJiow« that a lover of ideas is not only un- 
congenial to IUi taste, but perplexing to his Intel- 
lect. The English mind lives on tho past. Kich 
in its capital, it makes no account of future acqui- 
sitions. It can not discern the signs of the times. 
It does not hail the new forms that loom up on the 
horizon — the new and gigantic thoughts which can 
not find fit raiment in any old wardrobe. 

The poetry and fiction of the day, according to 
Mr. Emerson, are circumscribed by the same mu- 
nicipal limits. Dickens writes London tracts. 
Like Hogarth, he is a painter of English details, 
local and temporary in his tints and style, as well 
as in his aims. Bulwer appeals to the worldly 
ambition of the student, and reverences intellect 



107 

for its temporal uses. Thackeray finds that God 
has made no place in tho universe for the heart, and 
that we must renounce ideals, and accept London. 
Macaulay explicitly teaches that good means ma- 
terial commodity — good to cat, good to wear — that 
the glory of modern philosophy is to yield econom- 
ical inventions — that its merit is to avoid ideas, 
and to avoid morals. The triumph of the Baconian 
philosophy over the old Platonic, he thinks, is the 
disentangling the intellect from theories of the all- 
Fair and all-Good, and pinning it down to making 
a better sick-chair and a better wine-whey for an 
invalid. The eminent benefit of astronomy is its 
improvement of navigation, enabling the grocer to 
bring his wine and lemons to tho London market 
at a cheaper rate. The civility and religion of En- 
gland for a thousand years thus ends in reducing 
the intellect to a sauce-pan. Tho English cant of 
practical covers a world of skepticism. The doc- 
trine of Macaulay makes reason and conscience a 
romantic pretension. The tine arts fall to the 
ground. Beauty, except as a luxurious commod- 
ity, does not exist. 

Coleridge is one of those who save England from 
the reproach of no longer possessing the capacity 
to appreciate what rarest wit the island has pro- 
duced. But even with his catholic mind and his 
hunger for ideas, the traditional Englishman in 
him was too strong for the philosopher— ho fell 
Into accommodations with the spirit of the ago, 
and attempted to reconcile the Gothic rule of tho 
Anglican Church with eternal ideas. 

Doubtless thore are exceptions to the limited 
tone of English thought, especially in tho region 
of general culture, where there is no end to the 
graces and amenities, the wit, sensibility, and eru- 
dition of the learned class. But the artificial 
character of all English performance is also visible 
in letters. Much of their esthetic production is 
antiquarian and manufactured. Literary reputa- 
tions have been achieved by forcible men, whoso 
relation to literature was purely accidental, but 
who were driven by the arbitrary tastes of the day 
into their several careers. The bias of Englishmen 
to practical skill has reacted on the national mind. 
They worship the five mechanic powers even in 
their song. The tone of the steam-whistle is heard 
in the voice of their modem muse. The poem is 
created as an ornament and finish of their mon- 
archy, and not as the morning-star of a brighter 
day. Every literary production is mechanical in 
its structure, as if Inspiration and wisdom had 
ceased among men. No poet dares murmur of 
beauty out of the precinct of his rhymes. No priest 
dares bint at a Providence which does not patron- 
ise English utility. 

Still England la not hopelessly given over to 
material idolatry. Mr. Emerson recognizes the 
presence of a redeeming power, and offers some 

profound comments on the nature of its influence. 
There is a minority of perceptive minds in the na- 
tion that appreciate every soaring of intellect, every 
w':isper of a divine idea. They present a strong 
counterbalance to tho prevailing tendencies of 
the day. Studious, contemplative, experimenting, 
they arc the teachers of their countrymen in spite 
of themselves. The two classes, which represent 
genius and animal force, interact on each other, 
and produce a salutary counterpoise. Though thu 
first consists only of a dozen souls, and the second 
of twenty millions, their accord and discord forever 
yield the power of the English State. 

AVc have given a rapid abstract of somo of the 
chief points in Mr. Emerson's volume. But no 
one should fail to peruse the work for himself. It 
will not command universal assent, and its incon- 
secutive, aphoristic style, makes it liable to mis- 
construction. Still, where the positions of the au- 
thor can not be accepted, they are rich in sugges- 
tion, and open a fruitful vein of wise reflection. 
'1 he fresh vitality of the composition, though toned 
down below the standard of blood-heat, presents 
a constant attraction to tho amateurs of marked 
idiosyncrasies, nnd with its seductive beauties of 
expression, will always insure a succession of 
charmed readers. 



1856 

English Tra its This new work, by one of 
Our most distinguished philosophers and schol- 
ars, Ralph Waldo Emerson, will disappoint many 
who read an account of a foreign country and 
people only to glean from thenco the personal 
adventures of the author, or a description of the 
appearance, manners, and conversation of indi- 
viduals of note that he innr have met. Iustoad 
of this well-worn path that most tourists have 
trodden, the writer of "English Trulta" has given 
as a philosophical, dispassionate view of Eng- 
land and its Inhabitant-, tracing tho present 
characteristics of the Anglo-Saxon race back to 
the Phenician, the CJt, and the Goth. 

The habits and manners of the people arc de- 
scribed, their intellectual capacities, and their 
unexampled abilities in the creation and accum- 
ulation of wealth. Their system of aristocracy, 
which as the author says, 'glares a little in con- 
trast with our democratic tendencies," is freely 
discussed; although these same "republican 
nerves" can hardly receive without a shock, the 
theory that this institution is one step in the pro- 
gress of society, and that every social guard 
which our manners can establish to secured us 
from the Intrusion of distasteful people, is to <>e 
respected, however delightful such a state of 
things may appear to a man of refined and fas- 
tidious tastes. 

A long chapter I s devoted to the con sideration of 
the national religion; this part of the subject is 
indeed bandied without gloves. The idea that 
the Old Testament forms the creed of England, 
and not a leaf of the New Testament is turned; 
that their religion is a quotation and their church 
a doll; that Englishmen, however logical and 
dispntative on other subjects, "shut tho valve" 
when their church 1° approached, is plain speak- 
ing, which, whether or not agreeable to general 
view*, cannot be surprising from Mr. Emerson, 
when we consider tho purity, simplicity and free- 
dom, of thought and action, which marks his 
own spiritual life. It will be a matter of regret 
to many that the author has avoided a descrip- 
tion of most of those distinguished men whose 
namee are household words to us ; for when a 
man of genius describes his own similitude, he 
lends additional lustre to the star, whose rays 
before shone upon ns, and we feel that in 
his Intercourse with the brightest constellations 
of British literature, our own countryman stood 
aa an equal on the vantage-ground of native 
talent, ability and education. 

The style hi which Englls'i Traits is written is 
entirely devoid of that obscurity of expression 
which some of the author's admirers have 
charged against him. The language is sinewy in 
its strength, and a sentence is so compressed into 
a few words of deep meaning, so true, simple, 
and unornamented that one wonders that an in- 
ferior mind never produces what seems 60 natu- 
ral to all. The book abounds with felicitous 
phrases; as, when describing Carlyle he speak* 
of his cliff-like brow; of England as the Gibrnl- 
tcr of propriety, and its Islanders each an island 
In himself, safe, tranquil, and incommunicable 
They aro also, as the writer oxpresses it, very 
much steeped in their temperament, and the po- 
lice thinks Itself bound In duty to respect the 
pleasures and rare gayetvy of this i»con$olable na- 
tion. 

Apart from the robust and vigorous phraseol- 
ogy of the stylo, the matter Is of absorbing in- 
terest. With his earnest-thinking and philo- 
sophical mind, Mr. Emerson has carefully stud- 
ied the political institutions, power, wealth, 
arts, and commerce, of England, and given to 
the public a work which will add fresh laurels to 
his own fame, and impart to the reading world a 



1856 

fond of Information characterized by great clear- 
ness of statement, profound discrimination, and 
unprejudiced judgment in drawing his conclu- 
sions e. p. 

E*ou v " Tsms. By R. V. Emerson. Boston: Phil- 
lip*, Summon i Co. 

It in a great relief to ordinary mortals to discover 
that a philosopher has anything in common with 
themselves. Mr. Emerson once floated before our 
fancy as a cloud half-luminous, half-dark, now 
skimming the earth, now sailing above the moun- 
tains, now flashing inexpressible light, then sud- 
denly turning upon us a cold sharp mass of dark- 
ness — with perchance a glimmer of stars from its 
impenetrable depths. Whether in some great 
cycle of transmigration Plato had taken shape 
again— but only such dreamy shape as becomes 
a disembodied spirit — or whether Plato himself 
was a nebula of antiquity now floating within the 
sphere of our atmosphere, and assuming a more 
consolidated form — we never could quite deter- 
mine from anything »e heard or saw of' the sage 
of Concord." 

But it fell to us once after listening for an hour 
— Mr. Emerson always closes with the hour, even 
if he breaks oft' in the middle of an aphorism — to 
one of those rare effusions of the poet-philosopher, 
that leave ono bewildered as to his personal iden- 
tity, floating upon golden clouds of song— it fell to 
as to sprak the oracle face to face, to be jostled 
with him for miles in the same carriage, to 
clamber with him over rocks and fences to the 
hill-top, to sit down with him at the same hospi- 
table board, to hoar him in tho chit-chat of the 
parlor, and again to have a carriage talk in the 
•till night through the woods. This near view of 
Mr, Emerson surprised us almost as much as the 
aight of " tho immortal Caesar,"' uuder the common 
conditions of humanity, amazed the sturdy Cas- 
Mits ; but on quite other grounds. We found him 
not a man of " focblo temper," confounded by fa- 
miliar things — but that tongue of his, that just now 
" bade men mark him, and write his speoches in 
their books," discoursed with the plainest common 
sense, the largest practical wisdom, and tho kind- 
liest affection, upon the things of common life. Not 
a trace of pedantry or mysticism, not the least air 
of conscious superiority, could now bo detected in 
him who had "just discoursed so loftily of the ex- 
oluaive caste of the scholar. Indeed, if called upon 
to Blake confession of the sins that most beset him 
in society, like the austere and lofty Damiani, ho 
must have written " a contempt of pompons follies, 
and a disposition to laughter." 

He had spoken in his address of the uniformity 
with Jwhich all the disclosures of Spiritualists, 
from whatever spirit and through whatovor modi 
unJfWoio to us by way of Emanuel Swedenborg. 
Recalling this admirable hit, wo provoked him to 
an eloquent period upon the grandeur of an attes- 
ted revelation ; and then, with that emphatic hes- 
itancy that precedes some apt expression, he added 
of spirit-rappings, •' This r-x-rat-hok revelation. 
I ihaB' no patience with." No philosophy^filf 
monfrKhfrtually annihilate the whole system. 

We passed a golden orchard. " I lore to see 
the crop of apples looking well. The apple is tho 
social fruit of New England ; — the winter evenings 
and the fireside." There was a poem of kindly 



108 
feeling in that oft-hand remark. 

A good five-mile walker, none of tho party 
could excel hiin in climbing ; not even the enthu- 
siastic and accomplished lord of the manor — whose 
guests wc were — could point out with a more ap- 
preciative eye the beauties of the landscape, its 
geological features, or its capabilities of production, 
from the well-wared corn of tho interval to the 
thick-set cranberry bed in the marsh. In fine, we 
made up our minds that our new-found friend 
might be erratic, and mystic, and transcendental, 
and all that, but that ho was slill '"a man-.ybr a' 
that." 

The reader who has known Mr. Kmerson only 
as a philosopher of mystical and perhaps danger- 
ous tendencies, will find him in this book on Eng- 
land • a man of common sense, of practical obser- 
vation, and of most genial temper. While he can- 
not quito suppress the tendency to say even the 
most serious things in a half-comic vein, and some- 
times leaves you in doubt whether he is in thor- 
ough earnest or in scornful jest, he yet appears in 
this volume more as a panegyrist than as a satirist; 
and while he will speak in aphorisms, his most 
lofty sentences in this book aro clear — liko " stars 
that all can see, though very few can measure." 
He does not appear to have seen England through 
the mist either of her atmosphere or of his own 
speculations. 

Indeed, from the moment of lauding in England, 
Mr. Emerson was impressed almost to awe with 
the grand practical reality of the English nation. 
And this he has attempted to seize and to analyze 
in this book on English traits. lie says, " The 
problem of the traveler landing at Liverpool is, 
why England is England ? What are the elements 
of that power which the English hold over other 
nations 1 If there be ono test of national genius 
universally accepted, it is success. And if there 
be one successful country in tho universe for the 
last millennium, that country is England." 

Our traveler seems to have conceived of Eng- 
lishmen much as did the Constable of France and 
the Lord Rambures at the camp of Agincourt, 
" That island of England breeds very valiant 
creatures. Their mastiffs are of unmatchable cour- 
age ; and tho men do sympathise with tho mas- 
tiffs in robustness and rough coming on. And 
then give them great meals of bocf, and iron and 
steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like de- 
Tils." Perhaps, however, since the ohargo of the 
Six Hundred, ami the MMlt of the Great Redan, 
our admiring author J0P" qualify the eulogy as 
dU, the Duke of Orleans. " Foolish ours ! that 
■sjifwinking into the mouth of a Russian bear, 
flpaVhavc their heads crushed liko rotten apples." 
Lest our friend Agricola should be indignant at 
thitf'Iaet, as an American criticism upon England, 
we*rould remind him that we are speaking in 
Shakspeare's words of the English in the reign of 
Henry V., as they seemed to Frenchmen who had 
not yet proved their valor upon the field ! 

The kef-noto to Mr. Emerson's critique of Eng- 
land, is given in these expressive sentences : 
" England is a huge phalanstery, where all that 
man wants is provided within the precinct ;" 
"England is finished with a pencil instead of a 
plough." The idea of completeness imprcssod it- 
self upon his mind in connection with everything 



1856 



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1856 

holds the mirror fairly beforo them. la this coun- 
try, the reading of such a book from such an au- 
thority, must excite a lively in -erect in those from 
•whose sturdy and indomitable race wc too are 
sprung. Tho book itself is a fountain of pure 
Euglish, dealt out to the reador in vorrcU of amber 

EMEBSON ON EMOLISH CHARACTER. 

BHOLiaH TRAITS By R. W Enkuob. 12mo , pf. 313. 
Btwoui PBliUfS. tawm a Co 

The peculiar qualities of Mr. Emerson's miod 
are strongly stamped on the noaceata of tmit vol- 
ume Devoted to widely different themes fn*m 
tin se of bis previous productions, they everywoare 
betray the spirit which girea vitality to his poems, 
and bis philosophical, hictonoal aid li «r*ry essays. 
They could have come from ao other pea ttum 6 s 
own. Tcey could never be mistaken for the com 
position of another writer. In Mr. Emirson, tbe 
traveler U6vrr takes the pl*ce of the sage and the 
moralist. Th« genius of contemplation aioom- 
pa nit a him into tbe gayest and tbe most aati'e 
scenes. In ^be spectacle of mite-ial grwatness 
which Eoglsnd presents to tbe eye, he finds amp'e 
suggestion for subtle criticism and fro tfal analo- 
gies. Everything is judged and commented on 
from an Ideal point of view. The facts, which he 
dt scribes with a li'e-lihe m muteness and precision, 
that sflVrd tbe strongest presumpt've proof of his 
aoenrtcy, are placed in their relation with indi- 
vidual character and calTire. Th~ phenomena of 
English l.fe plsy tbe same part in this vo*um« as 
the seener* oLthe material universe la his 8<byll- 
ine bo A on " Nature." L-ke that, it blends a 
■weird vein of mysticism, with the most robast 
si'ise of reality. Pereaded by a flue 
p<**ic imagiaa ion, it is as free from rhapsody or 
sentimentalism as the hardest pro«e It oio*e* 
the most ethereal ideas in a my In o' ram simplicity, 
often rivalling tbe downngit plain -sm -f Paler or 
even of Coneett, Toe p<-ao'io*J shjeardoess, tbe 
homely ohjoj. nsei se w trios, are str*ng>-ly ten>per- 
ed in Mr Em* rtou'« constitution wi« aa exqiiaite 
perception of be.uti, snd a love of rented analy- 
sis, are prominent oa every page. Tan same is 
true of bis characteristic inconsequence of 
tboogbt and expression. It is r»-p*a»ted la this 
work to sack an extent, that tbe lover of oooaecu- 
rive method will be tempted to despair of master- 
ing ia details, or ef reUiuiua from its p-wu*al any 
tiling but an uidU'inct impression of is»lat d «plea- 
dors of wisdom and beauty. The »pboii<tio ihtr- 
aeterof the stile produces frequent repetitions. 
The same thoogt t it pr. sent* d in a variety of forms, 
with apparent une*m»«iouane»s on the part of *ha 
writer. Nor are the views presented by Mr. E<n 
ersou marked by striking oruinality, or perosps 
we should say by tovelty Toev a<« cereaiul* sis 
own— the re»tilt of personal <>bs»r*ation and reflec- 
tion — colored-*; bis peculiar inosVMuf aasoeiati >• — 
but net easrniially different from the tta'etnnata of 
termer Intelligent writer* on Euglaud. B4 th-y 
are set forth with a tome aid vivacity of illustra- 
tion, an attractive qoain-aess of eXMrewlon, and a 
constant reference to universal prUeip'e*, which 
distii.gulah bis volume In-m tbe prud-icuoa of 
sny prevhitis tourist. Nm'.ber has any oaier 
wii'er on tbe subjent brought t> its di*ous- 
s>on the wealih of oioice aud curious erudit- 
ion, wbioh Mr. Euiereoi- has gathered f.om a 
unique, if do: a remarkably exten^ve, co'trwe of 
re»oirjg. Tbe avers <>i> to crudn Aid i>l-c<)u-n<Wnd 
stateinebts, which U idi *yucr»>ic <*rh ~b« author, 



109 

Is betrayed m tbe c- lu^o-i <ou ol thn «<>r<. lr« 
lui'g delay ha« ausiu a 1 d auam dissppomre'l t«e 
an lcipatioija of his T'euds. Tiey ba»« r»e«o ♦•>•> 
impstitbt witi tbe fcstioiuu^ reiuctauo-> to o-^n uic 
a volume to the prera unci! ic had r^iei^e^i tha 
rxoet rompiete fi»ts>i *bu« tim-< aui reflHCioa 
could iiij^nrr. Tbe fiisc vi»i» to E'.giio , wo cb s 
Oervnbed iu its jj-m'», was made uot len* ib>u 
tweutj-ihree jeors a^o. It i« uear>> uiue je»r« 
►lliCe tbe autbor perfiirujed tn^ Hei^oud r «>ur, which 
has turn »bed the p nc-u*! p»rt on <>f tie ui<tten«ls 
f<>r its ur«-j,araH«'U iu tbn wide iute.'V U «hi.'i 
bbs eiouttd since ev, n th^ lti*c d^te. ibe ceve<"e 
n iuiuia'it u and rrvi.iiu t>> wbiei tie «-irs b«a 
l>e*n nit>j'Cted wM b- read iy und»<r.»o<id o. (Aiihm 
wh<» cni> lifter iLe r »; i-1 p/ , oc«»s-s ul 11* u*iut fr.nu 
h- iiun'e" eoujp'e^-i.'ij ut d ir-vicy «t r,o« pr < »iu.,;'-.. 

Rut witbo it mduUi u in >euetai oo u.ueut. at 
ai>) itimttT li i Kto, i< l« our diiij -o pr^>«t,t «.>oi-« 
■ if tbe iiu]ire-»i«>i.s ■•!' " Eiik lirii cri»it»" which M 1- . 
EliitTroo re«>i»ed from ■■■■ pirtiul <til) ol ll'o and 
n<ab!'t is in th^ bot>e» ■>• b'o • ue-^o>r« 

Tbe fir»t point which c'muird rut* a'-te tion au-t 
wonder, us it do< » lb*', ■ f tn r> \.Hieri.;>iu cr»f-ler, 
war lie U'ateiiul o. r't<- ion wl.-icb in viaib'e tin lb-) 
♦«e.e ot ire country nu< 1 »lir coQdicion el »b« pei»p"i. 
Englvlid is a parndisi* of c<>nif >r: a«wl plea'-y. To« 
fields present the Bupxarnur^ „« * hio'y o>i t »a'«d 
fiaiOeD. Olio wtnil.i triiuk Hint tacji a-.fl be-u flu- 
Ub«d witfl a p-ucil nsu-od of a p -w The vxvis 
ebuw a tolidi > of rtruetuiv cn*t « ( »<ninth- i >du«trj> 
ol ages. Ev-ry tbiog gives the impie^ on of ui«g 
uifieeiioe and ettdiess wea-Ui. Toe oli-ua e con- 
stantly brigs agneulrural pnrfiuo «,n u^ t-> tae 
highest poii t. There is pUr.tj of wa» r of sto e, 
ot potter's fr'av, o' eoal ot salt, and af i<oa. Tne 
thlid taioraily abounds with gtmn Ioiuwise 
bea'b* and downs am pnved w t« qutiis, ^r.uj«, 
and woedctK-k, and ihf >horea are aa<m«t>d try w,vr 
bud* Tbenvrria«vdttt«s%rruuiedi g «aspa vo wi'h 
fish. Tbe people have trwat rigor of b >dy a .d »o> 
duranew. Thsy aie nigg^ men t»*a tne iowh- 
cans. A hundred Inglisbcpan taken at r« dun 
out of the street would -»r-l<b a fourth more Wivn 
so mat y Amerio os Bu< tbe skeleton is not 
larger. Tnvy are round, ruddy and !•« kiii-i 
the wbolo bust is well tomaedi and Uorn u> a <ea- 
deti'7 to stout and ^iwxrfuJ «rsav>s Tbe b**aty 
ol En«ltkh w< men m n >t ua^ruvnd b-, 4Ma c ream 
stance Their iorms ar»> apt to gr»» iKioky. and 
instead of ta'», si- r.d»-r Agar**, of II taring ah«*«», 
we fitd itun>da d iLicket per»>>n«. oud. «s tne 
Prei eh rsy, wtn two lei* bauds. Bu', iu al< «y>s, 
they are a naii«><>ute nee The U<r c-mU-n-fJ. 
blueeyr and open and &• na a*^eit wf -re Eua;liaa 
lire mdicitei a love, of trota kjad ilta per<v-p"Ojs 
Tbe S*xoi> ruin is not toe w.« td oat of wfeioh eao- 
libt), or irqxlsitor, ni hsmuu ii rnsdi. Be is 
moulded for law, civil ty, m«rri««B, ta« narru-» of 
childreii, for coll- Kts. cburches, oharities and colo- 
nies. The English have vig.,-nua beamb, a»l Itst 
well L to middle and old age Tieek) m-^. ar«aa red 
as roses, and rill bao^some. A elf^c ak'O, « 
peach-bloom eomplexion, and g^odteeHh.ara f >Uid 
ail over tbe aland, fhey live well. To 9* niet is 
plentifnl and nutritious. Tbey do n»t w "'» 4>u 
water-cmasea. Beef, mot n, wbsatbmad, and 
malt 1 quors are ni'iversal auton^ be flrvtcta*-! 
laborers. They have m-re onristi«uti>nal en«rg» 
then any other people They love a<) »<irt« of 
m»i.ly exercises. Tbey b- x, run, sbo-t, rwle, 
row and sad Imn poe to pole, llvuy eat and 
dnnk ai d li«e jolly in tbe opwi air, puctng •» bar irf 



1858 



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1856 

MMMlto power of BngUnd. In war, they rely 
on vh. eisvpkst amiu. Tney do aot life* p **w- 
ov'i and diflicuit Uatice. Toey n<>pt ever* im- 
pro* en* lit in rig, io motor, 10 weapons, but after 
ail onievx tbat the bt»t stratagem ui i av*i war, u 
to )»y ) our ibip along aide of tbe ei>*-m) '• ih p, and 
brii-k all )our k iu . to boar oo bun UK til you or be 
«o to the botcuj. Tit-j do sot uenil'y she* taeir 
b'i'M d tor a pout of hm or or a r»-ii*ioo» «r odium t, 
ane ru-vei for a wbim— the* have no le^ian ttete 
♦to a tomahawk dance, t>o Fn*noh tas v for a bedi(e 
or a proclamation. Bui it >oa offer to lay band on 
his d»)'i •oyer, on h<a on«, or oi* ns*it la om- 
man, or his shop the Englishman will fi<bt to toe 
ciack o> dion He onoemtmtei all poll leal rights 
is tfir r gbt to kia own dinner. Tho qaeiiotu of 
fretd-m, Of taxation, of prtV'lege are money quee- 
tiiK ■. It e*p*bi* 01 Itfii^r »inw», toe indulgence 
ia rxptbaive, coau groat erW », or accumulations 
ot mtatal po»rr. 8uep*d In beer and fleen p*>u, 
(bey aie bard ot brariag and dim of tignt Thrir 
dnmny n>it<i* n**d to bo flagellated by war and 
trad o and poiifoa and pea a cution. Tnev ctnuet 
well rt an a principle except by tae right of fagots 
and of barbing towna 

Ta<- Eu k b>b character ia founded on a practical, 
olij twuD baua. Their tnteile>'.t ia essentially 
loftjinl. Tbry aie jea'oos of nuads that ba»e 
oncbtaniliy o» association Th«-y %re impatient 
ot k*-oiua and of minds a/ldicsd to cooteuiplaton 
Tin-) cabbot C"icc»[ (bxir oonteiupi fur aa>li«iA of 
tb« ii(tbi »li»<i »'►-»« the* cannot count by their 

• obUd rule. Tbry are imp oua n cn«-ir akxp.icioni 
ot theory; m b'«u d»p«juno»t'< tbey are cr*u.p-d 
aid Menle; but tbu oracn<-.al logic bta jri«en tb«m 
the lMiH«-r»oip of the world. Their auivers*l 
pewrr r>iU i-b the national twt.^ri'y. Their ve- 
laoi'j is iMiate in tbetr airinial atructnre. Tb/-y 
are biui t in myng want tbey think, •paring of 
p mini, an<i Uwj require pl*<n draiiog in 
Mbtir. Tb>-y la'e «>juffliu l j and t-quicoeetioo, and 
the ciiiM- is daiuayno in ibn public «>pl*k>c, on 
ub>ch ai>) paltering e«u be fij«d. An Eogit«amen 
b»»i ua'ly unnxotaim, avoids the aupeilndve, 
nbn ki bimte f in c>uipbmeot», and alleges *b»t 
in tt» French lau,a^,p one oano >t apvak witb mt 
1> mg Tt» y love rvaiity in wealtb, power, koepi- 
lant , and «■> not eaany learn to make a show and 
'•ke tb«- world m* ic k<h*. Tb>-y ore tot fond of 

• tb*meu p, md it tbry wear th«Hn, tbey m-ist be 
I'm. Plain, lick eioinef, pUin, rieb eqnpvo, 
i>l*ii>, ii'"b Bn tu t*r<xi k b»at tfexir bnuae and be- 
•oi.» »i nf, u.ait <bn Eng i»b tilth They oooflde 
in >ni t ia. r— Ei jj i«b b*-li>-*r« in Eu*)u-h. In the 
n> nter i-t ah) ii k iodn truth, no men tnrpaaa th«u». 
Tb»ir nil n^ pnanioi in llnw day* it a terror of 
bxtubtig. li <bf Mine proportion tbey value bon- 
»►•>. a I'tatrtem, ani adirre»oe to )0'ir own. 

But tt>»ir jovn of trutfe is oowotued with a ain- 
K l.i wast ot imagination and aeauaaent. Tonir 
alow tru pi-ranieut IBibea them le*i r«pM «nd ready 
i ban lb» people of otonr OKibtr>^. Ed«li*b wit 
onajMp klT*ud« Tbu daloeaa otakea their at- 
t-rhe>tatp* borne, atd tn»u adboreuoe ia all for- 
eign randa On akeir b- me hamto Toe Eugl abouui 
wio v*»tt» M"0t>t Etna, mom ha trakec«rt to ttM 
top. l'b»ii t- j«» »e»m to bo set at the bottom of o 
tnntel Tbr) affl m the one amall tact they knows 
a hb be b*»» tai»h in >h« world tiut nothing eUe 
txU>n At tkatr own bt»i> f in goineoo 1* perfcet, 
b»y reaeiiy »pv«> tkw ^edooiar) ar«tttoeat a< Inal 
Kta&pi • 9* E»gl an atoOdity ore tno onecdotef of 



110 
Eun.aas. 

Tbey Ore rood lovora, good hater*, and alow, but 
obaa<n*t« adnvrem In ail thiaga they ore very 
morn ateepfd in tnoer bompemenont, llko nw 
baldly a«e»kei rrdwl /top aleep, which, they ooj -y. 
Vb"» babha ai d inatinci ■ clebTO to nature. They 
•rn id tbe eanb, eartay, lull of coarse strengtn, 
r <J« ei> leii-s hittoner*' w+i. and a<ao« tlssp. 
Aey hint U* the eondMt •( Ufa, wbicb redoes on 
tnu animal exiatenee, ia look d uo with anapiotua, 
ao a 'brent ie st»p he anpplteo. A mrang sto- 
p»drty m%»ks and p i onsets taV*r peroeption as tno 
eai tarn of tae eay> "» eye. Tbe EngUohmnn ia to- 
uneery pottiotie, fer bis country is ss assail. His 
coi nsVnoe lb nis own snuen sankea kia p>w«ok- 
iikly meniions snwnt other nations. HadnUlkes 
luieigavrs. Wb»n he sd/s eyirteU of prsio*. 
his clisaax is " on Esgltsb." When ho wShee 
to (.ay )<* the bbjooat oanplloisBt, he say*; 
'■ labwaidno* know y « from on KngHnbaaan." 
Bn hna aneb a »awd onaninn of Bnglwrf that tno 
otdbarj ph-asea of ilsparsg'M *aat relate* to 
• ntwrlf in saining w*tn s stmngor, nrem awketi (v 
•n twsppv* t»ib o k nvgs to tbe merits of his nn- 
tMB Ike new Toiker or PennaylranUa wno 
s<4»sfy tsBnt-sto tike oisndTantsnn of a new 
tfUi), Wax kwita sad ssTagea, is »«rpriaod by tan 
tao motsnt otanwisaratli'iB! of tan whoio eontpany, 
nbo plaJnly sorennt all tao world oat of England 
U a heap of rnbnub. 

Tae ease* iasejar rtobHneton pteeaes bis itreirn 
polities. Be sticks in bi* trsditions and neng*e, 
and ea help ban <*vd, be aril nine his tslanl by- 
laws nowTi the tbn«t of great osMntrina, Hko IndU. 
China, Canada, Anscrvaa, and not only on, bat 
hsipoee Ws* ptng on tan Coasress «f Vmasn, sod 
tran-pV dosm nit isrl—slttios with his Ui«d boots. 
Et sHsh asanre ia a ra»h and n ta r n ss i Te as to bn a 
little is» apnarbls wiih every other. Ton world 
is net wide t Donah tur two. Boaine this anti-inal- 
tvy, tneEssbah tave a peoosnl sa Ko orneaa e ency, 
tin bgh a>hlrb fvrt avis deliahta in ah-rwiag hi«v 
aeH tsr was* bn Is an« in datntt what ho eon. Io 
all eoo»pnr>in*, e>eh of raoei baa t»o snnd an OfAn- 
ionof aiasarftM lovrtate aaybudy. He hides as 
wnantUhuftnta, leeferoa, dross, 



1856 




an* of flann bwW n an'4, ar a ma, or n i 

e» Wwvltga, n* a saar, or mora, ar a psjoae*. or * 

een>ee>tnf « c men »otee, he has net the srighwt 
anabt last tanas is iannritlg nsodiab and becoovlag 
hna 

In point of manners, the English are a grave and 
taettan nee They are proud and private, ana area 
if ditpntedtoreertation, will amid an open garden. 
Meat st>d wine produce no effect on them— tbey 
are as c >ld, quiet and composed at the end, as at 
the begtaniiig of dinner. In mixed cempanie*, they 
skat their mouths. Swedenborg, wbetner by a 
stroke of kamor, or in ku pitiless logic, placed the 
Engliak souls in a heaven by themselves. £ hey do 
notwvsr taeir htart on their tleeve for daws to 
peek St. Tbey have that phlegm or ttiidnees which 
it is a complimeat to disturb. Sail, when they 
sptak, they always tpesk their mind. They daie 
to el»pleaee. They hie tbe layers of No, better 
than the severs of Tea Tbey meditate opposition. 
Each of them has sa oplmVn, which he feels it be- 
oi nits him to express all the more that it differs 
from sou a. 

Of all men, the Englishman stands firmest in his 




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1856 

Ei.gti.fc mud for a thousand >ears. The Eogllah 
bave bo fmhcy. They are never surprised Into a 
ooiert or a witty word, rach ai pleated the Athe- 
aiant and the old Itallaat. They delight In strong 
eei thy expressions, which, though spoken anong 
princes, are equally fit aiid welcome to tae mob. 
The r »Mg* and ballads are refreshed by tae cmell 
of eanb, and of the bieath of cattle. They ask 
their cobstitutontl utility in verve. The poet uim- 
b)y r» covert himself from every tally of the ima#i- 
■ a nn. The Eiglitoman !«.?«• the farmyard, the 
1>i d and m-'kt t A taste lor plain, ttiotvc speech, 
u.«t'k« tie Ecg ibh Tue influence of P.uto ooce 
in iLto the British mind, bu. it fell from the bight* 
o> speculation to a low level. Locke, to whom the 
nxaiiii g of ideal wat unknown, became the type of 
pbiloaopby, and the power* of thought fell into 
t>e»)*ct The laUr Engliih want the faculty of 
Iioto and Arittotle of grouping men in natural 
ci«np« by tn insight of general l»w*. They shrink 
mm a geiieralizttion. Every one of them is a 
id* u>a*rf> ytais old, and Uvea by bi< memory; and 
v>htn jou tay this, they aooept it at praise. They 
have lost all commanding viewt in literature, phi- 
lutopby and science. A good Englishman ahutt 
hin>s»lfoutof thrve- fourth* of hit mind, and confine* 
k n toil to one fourth. He hta learning, common 
ie» a* power of labor and logio, bat a taitk in uni- 
wiaal lawt the modern Eighth mind repudiate*. 
The Mora' are which aril* otaaists mainly of politic*, 
trade, etatu rt ioa, tabulation and t ngiaeering Evan 
w>at la called pkilesepry and kttara ia r aea hs aios l 
ta> Ha strueter*, aa if tfeere were no long or any in- 
rpiratiun, aa if no va#t nope, no religion, no aong 
of Jo), ■• analogy, no wisdom siill existed. The 
taste af oeDegt* and of literary society baa this 
m> rtal air. One tec*** to walk oa a marble floor, 
where nothing wiB gaaw. No tmbbme •nugnry 
cheers the atadant. A bariaaa ef bra** ef tea 
dia*eter of k't umbrella that* dVtra areaad hit 
tei so*. He foara the hostility of Ueaa, of poetry, 
of nJiglea. The English have trample* on nation- 
alities to reproduce London and Londoner* in 
E>«epe and Asia, they have etatan pt i d to demeeti- 
cate and dret* ap the Bla a toi Bool itaalfia En- 
gl* h hrondeletk and gaiter*, aad hence are tor- 
a^aUd with fear that there lark* a fomoU thong at 
that will awtep away tboJr spate**. 

The view which Mr. Eaaawoa preaenU of the 
Eaf/Kh character la ito e***n eonsplonous maai 
Hk talk at mart lmpreat ever* reader aa too broad 
aad eaqenlraed, a nd m ea n he ■iajap t ad, if aooewtod 
at all, wth many UaaHotioa* saje W , he virtually 
aoaeawiedave thit bJasntf, aad b olearly aaxioaa 

qatlitW*, which are oertatasj net , wanting ia the 
natives ad <v mother ooancrjr The trata kt, aa 
Mr Eottraaw raggi***. the Kagliith hare groat 
I v ar ktaa e/ahaaailii. Tawy «en enatre- 
•taaraVad aa near, sfiaaaKfa, aad ftab- 
bera— ai d aa mlleVswo st , aad sensible. Commerce 
at ad* abroad malaatades of different ctaaaea. The 
akeleric WeUhmaa, the fervid Scot, the bilious 
reeid+it-ja the Eaet or Wf at India*, are wide of 
tie perfect behavior ef the edieated and digni- 
fied man of family. 80 ia the burly farmer — «o it 
the eoaniy tqurre, wrh hi* narrow and violent 
1 fV— to ia the commercial traveler. Bat these 
elauei are the right EnglUh itoek, and may 
fiiirly thow the naional qaibtiea, before yet art 
aad t- dueaii< n have dealt with them. 
In i< me inatanert, too, Mr. Eanarson \w proSa- 



111 
My tiatteraud aceMeatal individual trait* into 
Mw<i,al charaeteajatlca. Oitah.ly he cornet 
qaaMtU* in hit drrineatioc ©**Eogruh caoser* that 
are saaiceh eorapaMble wi'A "»ch otby.r. Thai \* 
n.ore than onise a)rod«a to toe Un<i of fieak whuoh 
the Englwh debaht lOToda^o, too jonsoai tv*0> 
blclty which U toleratei with oseh wioecharrijv 
But thit U net oaatry n**a>o*»bWs tridt she paaatoo. 
for routine, which ia a part of their n a a a r e. they 
are poaitive, inethodtaal, aleaaJy, devoted to aoaV 
ventinl way*, and inezoraole on point* of form, la 
an^ Ecgliaaman yea are rare of neacaeaa ' aad of 
tfrwHlooeanun. A cet U ia order aad ■n t f if 
propriety la found in hit dret* and ia hie b aloaf 
ingi. Mo merit counteracts the want of keeptaf 
tbe propiietiee, which ia Indiapeaaahie aa clean 
linen. Bat we have already aeee, aeeaadkag to Mr. 
Emerson, that an Englishman may "waar a sad- 
dle or stand on hit head" without caottag remark. 

Another dborrpeaey la the EaoJlah ohar- 
acter, aa drawn by Mr. Eaaerarn, is arare iLfall- 
eaat, and U c aaaaaaaad on, taeegh htUfr/, ka aU 
ooaeladlng chapter. Although aoodela of truth hv 
private U'e, thttr public tyttem I* a t iaiae of fifl- 
aitiao. Their rootal in*4ita»iona are la tie aagaaat 
degree artificial. Their law la a net-work effie- 
tieae. Their piupeitj ia a net ip for iatereet oa 
money that no man ever aaw. Their aoeial 
are medeby atatntn. Their ratio* of 
tire power are hkworicai aad legal. Parity ia the 
riejUve Parliament ia aeeurrd by tht pamhaea ef 
teats. The p« nperliw* hotter than the free laborer— - 
the thief better than the pauper- -and tie trana- 
portcd felon better than the one aader amp* iaaov 
ment The crime* are factltieo*, a* aaaaggUag. 
poaching, non-conformity, here»y, aad treaeao. 
The aorereigary of the aeatit maintained by the lm- 
preeamat t of tearoee. Solveney ia maiataiaei by 
meaaa of a national debt. Th-irsyatem of edaco- 
tloa la toetrtlon*. TV aaiver*i<re* galvanlMdeai 
angnagni into a temblaaee of life The Chareh 
a artificial. Eagliah life dee* art grow oat of too 
Athanaakta ereed, or the Article*, or the Ee*ht> 
rlit. The reHgioa of Bagltad ia a part of good 
breeding. The church fa tae church of the fooir*;, 
art the eaorchof the poor. Their foith io a q»v 
taaioai their ohoreh ia a dell aad any raaarJaaOaaa 
U fatearteted with soreain* of tsrror. Toe Aagficija 
Chareh to Bnathed by the grace aad good seat* '*** 
it* formr, ay the aaaary graee of ita olergj- Mlhat 
a general good tame few amenity aad miidaeaa. 
The Goapel it prcacbea ft "By taate >e are saved." 
The doctrine of the Old Tr*tament ia the reUgtoo 
of Englaid. The first leaf of the New Testament 
it doe* not open. It oelieve* in a Providence 
which doe* not treat with levity a pound sterling. 
The En* lisli, abhorring chango in all things, ab 
boniig it m< st in matter* of religion, criny to the 
la»t ray of form, end are dreadfully given to cant. 
The Church at thit moment hat no'htog UJt but 
poaaeMion. Tie religion which it preaches i* 
nothing but a theotriotl Sinai, where the tbunler* 
are supplied by the propeity-mau. If a bishop 
meets aa intelligent gectleman and reads faUJ io- 
tenogntion* in hit e^e, be hat no reaoan-e but to 
take wine vtith bim. False potition .introduce* 
cant, perjury, slou-ny. and even a lo*er eU:i of 
mind and character into the clergy, and when too 
hierarchy is afraid of science and educatWm, afraid 
of piety, afraid of traditioo, and afra'd of theology, 
their church has already become no longer a 
cburcb. Counter f. its prevail eqially io mtteral 



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1856 



PERSONAL. 



" English Tbaits," the long expected latest 
work of the great Transcendentalist, Eajj>h Waldo 
Exkbsov, haa gone to press, we understand. A 
Boston correspondent says : — u It is a volume of 
three hundred pages, written in a singularly com- 
pact style, in short, sharp, decisive sentences, al- 
most without ornament of any kind, ytt betraying 
throughout every mark of the severest intellectual 
and literary labor. No other work of Mr. Eras- 
son's approaches it in constructlveness. It is a 
thorough analysis of English character, which is 
considered mostly from a highly favorable point of 
view, and discussed in the tone of a sensible, prac- 
tical man of the world, and not in that of a poet 
or philosopher, and still less in that of a historian 
or a statesman. It is not in the least transcendental 
— whatever the phrase may mean. Land, race, 
manners, character, wealth, aristocracy, religion, 
literature, the universities, and the Times news- 
paper, are the chief topics. There is little account 
of persons in the book. LurooB, Co libidos, 
Words wohth, and Cxbltlh, only, are described." 

The Home Journal , N.Y, , 
8-9-56, p. 3. 

A NEW ENGLAND TOWN. 



A "here-and-tbere" correspondent of the 
National Intelligenoer pens these interesting 
notes from tho citv of Gonoord. New Camp- 
shire :— [Concord, Mass.] 

" An hour s nae in toe cam unup one rrom 
the heat and noise of Boston to this interest- 
ing town. Apart from the rich historio asso- 
ciations of the village, where erst 

Tb« "tnb^ttlad firmer* stood 

Ami flrcil tbs shot b»»rd round la* world, 

it is the boat specimen (unless Plymouth be 
better) of an old-fashioned, quiet New Eng- 
land town. Everything has such a quaint 
old-time look, that one almost expects, enter- 
ing the court-house, to find some woman with 
the fatal scarlet letter on ber vesture, or per- 
haps some one on trial for witchcraft. There 
is nothing much to be seen. The landscape 
has a quiet beantj. The sluggish Mucketo- 
quid (now unfortunately oalled the Concord) 
winds around one side o f the village, where it 
joins the Assabeth, more like oil than water, 
and beyond, the Ponkawtapet hill (I hope I 
spell the name right) lifts iteelf in a graoeful 
aro. The river has its dark bed spangled 
with beautiful water-lilies. The current is 
scarcely perceptible, and, it is said, the only 
bridge that was ever destroyed in high flood 
floated calmly up the stream. 

" One spot alone on this river allures the 
visitor. It is where a simple and tastefnl 
granite shaft arises, telling that there Jie the 
remains of the three men who rushed across 
the bridge, and died in msking the first resist- 
ance to British arms in the war of tho Revo- 
lution. A few feet off two headstones mark 
where the two men of the English ranks who 
were slain were buried. Tho story is old, but 
the application of it in the thought of him 
who now stands by it is new. It Is a plaoe to 
foel the full value of the country so dearly 
purohaaed, and to dedicate ourselves afresh to 
the freedom for the love of whioh our fathers 
were stricken down. 
" But an equally high present interest 



112 
attaobes to this place because ot its associa- 
tion with the revolution in New England 
theology and philosophy, which is now recog- 
nised as perhaps the most important element 
in our land. Of their quality and teodenoy 
there are of course ootitlioting views, and I 
have no purpose of discussion here ; but it 
will not be doubted that many great minds 
and hearts were enlisted therein. And of 
these minds the Athens was Coooord. One is 
readily borne baok to the Court of Pericles 
as its parallel, with Margaret Fuller (after- 
wards Countess Oseoli) here as Aspasia there. 
The prince of all was Emerson, in whose quiet 
and beautiful homestead, embosomed in graoe- 
ful firs, were often gathered such oboiee spirits 
as Margaret Fuller, fresh from the inspiration 
of her last improvisation ; Thoreau, with 
mind all shelved with New England plants 
and fishes; Dr. Channing occasionally, bat 
oftener that fins orator, W illUm HL Channing, 
and Ellery, his cousin, ths post , Aloott, all 
full of Orphics ; Hawthorns, 

▲ ebUl »n>»»» '•«» tokta aetas. 
An' tilin, ho'U frost '•m. 

And young Curtis (Uowadji) was there, ao- 
quiring that standard of life which was after- 
wards to become the silver larcet wbich we 
now recgnise in Putnam occasionally. What 
was elicited from such a company as tbis may 
be best collected from orthodox tbeologioaJ 
pamphlets of that time, which, never very 
good-humored, appear to have been harassed 
to death than, and not to have quite reoovered 
since. 

" An objeot of deep interest here is the 
-Old Manse.' Most of your readers, one 
would at lt-ast hope, have read Hawthorne's 
- Mosses from an Old Manse.' It was in this 
quaint old building that it was written. 1 he 
ancestors of Mr. Emerson were its first inhabi- 
tants. It is now oooupied by Mrs. Ripley, the 
widow of the former minister of the parish, 
who is very well known in this State lor her 
great acquirements, and especially her contri- 
butions to the study of liohens and algss 
generally. The visitor finds her kind Decs equal 
to ber unusual powers of conversation. The 
house is reached through a long lawn, with 
stately old trees arranged on either side. 
Within, the wainscots, closet*, doors, all givs 
one au admirable idea of the souses inhabited 
by the early New England aristocrats. 
• • • 

'- Near Concord is the beautiful pond called 
Walden. (If the reader has not read Thar- 
cau's ' Walden' he bad best stop reading tbis 
letter now, and go and get it.) You can see 
in its transparent waters to the depth ot filteen 
or twenty feet. It has no visible inlet or out- 
lot. The body in it seems ss white as marble. 
This is just baok of Emerson's farm, and if 
ons is there toward sunset he will be apt to 
see, standing alone on its bank, a tall, slender 
man, with eyes whose bios reflects the infinite 
sky : that man is Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
thinking of whom the scholars of the world 
say that the rough cactus of America had its 
hundred-year bloom st last, and it was un- 
folded at Conoord. 'I hear but one voios,' 
said Carlyle, ' and that comes from Conoord.' 

" Combining with ths earnestness of man- 
hood the simplicity of a child, this greatest of 
Americans lives kindly amongst his neighbi rs 
without seclusion or pride. All love him; 
if one could be found who did not, bow the 
villagers would instantly notify Barnum. Us 
is just now in his vigor, lad soil by his mag- 



1856 



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1856 



T.F. AYF.X OF GRASS*. 



I.KAVK8 OF OKA?P— r*<n irr. A Wfm.ii: New-York. 

What Centaur k:i>i- wc here, half in**, half 
beast, nci^hiui_- sl.nll defiance to all the world '! 
What conglomerate of thought in thi- before 
as. with insolence, philosophy, tenderness, 
blasphemy, beauty and gross indecency tum- 
bling in drunken confusion tlirrtvc.:h the pages ? 
V lio is thin Hrropiiit y»um< man who proclaims 
himself the 1'oct of the Time, and who roots 
like a pip imnn;; n rotten t'nrbngc of licentious 
thoughts? Who is this flushed and full-blooded 
lover of Nature who studies her so affection- 
ately, and who sometimes utters her teachings 
with a lofty tongue ? This nniss of e\ trior - 
dinar) contradictions, this fool and this wise 
man, this lover of beauty and this sunken 
sensualist, this original thinker ntul blind 
egotist, is Mr. Walt. Whitman, author of 
fjffivfx of (Iras*, and, according to his own 
account, "aKostuos." 

Some time since there was left at the office of 
this paper a thin quarto vclarne bound in green 
and fold. On opening the book wc first beheld, 
as a- frontispiece, the picture of a man in his 
*hirt sleeves, wearing an expression of settled 
arrogance upon his countenance. We next 
arrived at a title pace of magnificent propor- 
tions, with letter-press at least an inch and a 
bMf in length. From this title page we learned 
that the book was entitled leaves of Grass, 
and was printed at Brooklyn in the year 185.V 
This inspected, we passed on to what seemed 
to be a sort of preface, only that it had no 
beginning, was remarkable for a singular 
sparsencss in the punctuation, and was broken 
tip in a confusing manner by frequent rows of 
dots separating the paragraphs. To this suc- 
ceeded eighty-two pages of what appeared at 
the first glance to be a numlicr of prose sen- 
tences printed somewhat after a biblical fashion. 
Almost at the first page wc opened we lighted 
upon the confession that the author was 

" Wai.t. Whitman, :in American, ou<- of the rou.'ls, 
a Kosmos. 

Disorderly, fleshy and scnsu.il. ..." 

This was sufficient basis for a theory. We 
accordingly arrived at the conclusion that the 
insolent-looking young man on the frontispiece 
was this same Wai.t. Whitman, and author 
•f the leaves of Grass. 

"Shea returning to the fore-part of the l>ook, 
we found proof slijis of certain review articles 
written about the Ijtavt* of Grass. One of 
these purported to be extracted from a 
periodical entitled the United State+jfrvieir, 
the other was headed "From the Atktrii-un 
I'hrrnological Jtwrual." These m e accompan- 
ied by the printed oopy of an extravagant let- 
ter of praise addressed by Mr. Kalih Wai.do 
Emusox to Mr. Walt. Whitman, complimen- 
ting him on the benefaction conferred on so- 
ciety in the present volume. On subfcquently 
comparitig the critiques from the Unitnl Stit-* 
fieri' w and the I'hrtitoloulcul Journal with the 
preface of tin Tjrart* nj Gross, we discovered 
unmistakable internal evidence that Mr. 
Walt. Whitman, true to his character of n 
Kosmos. was not content with writing a book. 
but was also determined to review it, so Mr. 
Wait. Whitman had concocted both those 
criticisms of his owu work, treating it we need 
not say how favorably. This little discovery of 
our " disorderly " acquaintance's mode of pro- 



113 
cccdiug lather dumped aur enthusiasm with 
which Mr. Emehsos's extravagant letter may 
have inspired us. Wc reflected, here is a man 
«ho sets himself up as the poet and teacher of 
liistiine; who professes a scorn of everything 
nu an nnd dastardly and double-faced, who 
tiisscs with scorn as he passes one in the street 
whom he suspects of the taint, hypocrisy — yet 
this sclf-containtd teacher, this lough-and- 
icady scorner of dishonesty, this rowdy knight- 
cjranr who tilts against all lies and shams, him- 
self jK-rpclrates a lie aud a sham at the very 
outset of his career. It is a lie to write a re- 
view of one's own book, then extract it from 
the work in which it appeared and send it out 
to the world as an impartiul editorial utter- 
ance. It is an act that the most degraded 
lierbt of literature might blush to commit. It is 
n dishonesty committed against one's own na- 
ture, and all the world. Mr. Walt. Whitman in 
one of his candid rhapsodies announces that 
he is "no more modest than immodest." Per- 
haps in literary matters he carries the theory 
further, nnd is no more honest than dishonest. 
He likewise soys in his preface : " The great 
jioetsal are so known by the absence in them of 
tricks, and by the justification of perfect per- 
sonal candor." Where, then, can we place 
Mr. Walt. Whitman's claims upon immortal- 
ity? 

We confess we turn from Mr. Whitman ns 
Critic, to Mr. Whitman as Poet, with conside- 
rable pleasure. We prefer occupying that in- 
dependent position which Mr. Whitman claims 
for man, and forming our own opinions, rather 
than swallowing those ready-made. This gen- 
tleman begins his poetic life with a coarse nnd 
bitter scorn of the past. We have been living 
Male and unprofitable lives ; wc have been sur- 
feited with luxury and high living, and are 
grown lethargic and thill : the age is fast decay- 
ing, when lo! the trump of the Angel Whit- 
man brings the dead to life, and animate- the 
slumbering world. Ifwcobeythe dictates of 
that trumpet, wc will do many strange things. 
We will fling off all moral clothing and walk 
naked over the earth. Wc will disembarrass 
our language of all the proprieties of speech 
and talk indecency brjad-cast. We will act 
In short as if the Millennium were arrived in 
this our present day, when the absence of all 
sice would no longer necessitate a virtuous dis- 
cretion. We fear mnch, Mr. Walt. Whitman, 
that the time is not yet come for the nakedness 
of parity. We are not yet virtuous enough to 
be nbls to read your poetry aloud to our child- 
ren and oar wives. What might be pastoral 
simplicity fire hundred years hence, would 
perhaps be stigmatised as the coarsest inde- 
cency now, and — we regret to think that you 
bare spoken too soon. 

The adotation of the "lit," the "Ego," the 
"eternal and universal L" to use the jargon 
of the Boston Orach, is the prevailing motive 
of Leave* of Gran. Man embraces and com- 
prehends the whole. He is everything and ev- 
erything is him. All nature ebbs and flows 
through him in ceaseless tides. He is "his 
own God and his own Devil," and everything 
that he does is good. He rejoices with all who 
n ioice ; suffers with all who suffer. This doc- 
trine is exemplified in the book by a pano- 
rama M H were of pictures, each of which is 
shared in by the author, who belongs to the 



1856 
jnivcise, as the universe belongs to hirn^ In 
detailing these pictures he hangs hciftkand 
{! "re r-hrcis nnd tassels of his v nd philoafphy 
till his work, like a maniac's robo, is bedizened 
with fluttering tagsot a thousand colon. With 
all his follies, insolenee and indecency, a* 
modern poet that we know of has presented 
fner descriptive passages than Mr. Wait. 
Whitman. His phrasing, and the strength 
and completeness of his epithets, are truly 
wcnderfnl. He paints in a single line with 
marvelous power and comprehensiveness. Tbe 
following rhapsody will illustrate his fullness of 
epithet : 
" I nm be that walk* with the Under and growing 

night : 
I call to the eorth and sea, half held by the night. 

" Press close bore-bosomed night I Press oloee rnag- 

netic, nourishing tight 1 » 
Night of flout; winds I Night of the large few stars I 
Still nodding night 1 Mad, nuked. Summer night ! 
I " Smile, O voluptuous and cool-breathed earth ! 
Earth of tbe slumbering and liquid trees ! 
Earth of departed sunset I Earth of the mountains 

mlHt Tt opt I 

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full mnon just 

tinged uilh Hue I 
Earth of shine and dark, mottling the tide of the 

river I 
Earth of the limpid gray, of clouds brighter and 

clearer for my sake I 
Farsvooping clbt,iced earth I Rich apple-blossomed 

earth I 
Smile, for j our lover comes I 

"Vouseal I resign myself to you also.... I guess 

what you menu. 
I It bold from the beach your crooked inviting fln- 

8»rs, 
I bvlleve you refuse to go back without reeling of me ; 
Wc must have a turn together. . . .1 undress. . . .hurry 

me out of sight of the land. 

Cushion me soft rock «w in billowy drowse. 

Dash me with amorous wet I can repay yeu," 

" Sea of stretched ground -swells t 

Seu. breathing broad and convulsive breaths I 

Sea of the brine of life t Sea of mnshovtUd mud al- 

vaye-readi, tprmtts '. 
BoirlS and semper of storms ! Capricious and dainty 

seal 
I n-.n inti pt.i1 with you. . . .1 too am of one phase and 

of all phases." 

Here arc fine expressions well placed. Mr. 
Whitman's study of nature has been close and 
intense. He has expressed certain things better 
than any other man who has gone before him. 
He talks well and largely, and tenderly of sea 
and sky, and nun and trees, and women and 
children. His observation and his imagination 
are both large and well -developed. Take this 
picture, how pathetic, how tenderly touched 1 

"Agonies are one of my changes of garments; 

I do i.ot ask the wounded pei eon how be feels. ...I 

myself huoome the wounded person. 
My b.irt turns livid upon me as I lean ou a cane and 

observe. 
I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken. . . . 

trembling walls buried me in their debris. 
Heat and smoke I inspired I heard the yelling 

shouts of my comrades, 
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels; 
They have cleared the beams away. ...they tenderly 

lift me forth. 
I He in the night air in my red shirt the pervading 

Lush la for my sake, 
Painless after aH I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy. 
White and beautiful are the faces around me.... the 

heads are bared of their fire-caps. 
Tbe kneeling crowd fades with the light of the 
■torihea." 

If it were permitted to us to outrage all pre- 
cedent and print that which should not be 
printed, we could cull some passages from the 
" Leaves of Grass," and place them in strange 



1866 

contrast with the extract' we have already 
made. If being a Kosmos is to aet no limits to 
one's imagination ; to use coarse epithets when 
coarseness ia not needful, to roam like a drun- 
ken satyr, with inflamed blood through every 
field of lascivious thought ; to return time after 
time with a seemingly exhaustlesa prurient 
pleasure to the same licentious phrases and 
ideas, and to jumble all this up with bits of 
marvelously beautiful description, exquisite 
touches of nature, fragments of savagely-uttered 
truth, shreds of unleavened philosophy, if to do 
all this is to be a Koamos, then indeed we cede 
to Mr. Walt. Whitman his arrogated title, Tet 
it seems to us that one may be profound without 
being beastly , one may teach philosophy with- 
out clothing it in slang ; one may be a great 
poet without using a language which shall out- 
law the minstrel from every decent hearth. 
Mr. Walt. Whitman does not think so. He 
tears the veil from all that society by a well- 
ordered law hhrouda in a decent mystery. He 
is proud of his nakedness of speeeh ; he glories 
in his savage scorn of decorum. Like the 
priests of Belus, he wreathes around his brow 
the emblems of the Phallic worship. 

With all this muck of abomination soiling 
the pages, there is a wondrous, an accountable 
fascination about the Ltax* of Grat$. As we 
read it again and again, and we will confess 
that we have returned to it often, a singular 
order seems to arise out of its chaotic verses. 
Ont of the mire and the slough edged thoughts 
and keen philosophy start suddenly, as the men 
of Cadmus sprang from the muddy loam. A 
lofty purpose still dominate*' the uncleaansss 
and the ridiculous self-conceit in which the 
author, led astray by ignorance, indulges. He 
gives token everywhere that he is a huge un- 
cultivated thinker. Ho country save this could 
have given birth to the man. His mind is West- 
ern — brawny, rangh, and original. Wholly un- 
cultivated, and beyond his associates, he has 
begotten within him the egotism of intellectual 
solitude. Had he mingled with scholars and 
men of intellect, those effete beings whom he 
so despises, he would have learned much 
that would have been beneficial. When we 
have none of our own size to measure ourselves 
with, we are apt to fancy ourselves broader and 
taller and stronger than we are. The poet of 
the little country town, who has reigned for 
years the Virgil or Anacreon of fifty square 
miles, finds, when he comes into the great 
metropolis, that he has not had all the think- 
ing to himself. There he finds hundreds of 
men who have thought the same things as him- 
self, and uttered them more fully. He is as- 
tonished to discover that his intellectual 
language is limited, when he thought that 
he had fathomed expression. He finds hi? 
verse unpolished, his structure defective, his 
best thoughts said before. He enters into the 
strife, clashes with his fellows, measures 
swords with this one, gives thrust for thrust 
with the other, until his muscles harden and 
his frame swells. He looks back upon his 
provincial intellectual existence with a smile ; 
he langhs aa4as country arrogance and igno- 
rant faith in himself. Now we gather from 
Mr. Whitman's own admissions — admissions 
that assume the form of boasts — that he has 



114 

mingled but little with intellectual men. The 
love of the physical — which is the key-note of 
his entire book — has as.yet altogether satisfied 
him. To mix with large -limbed, clean-skinned 
men, to look on ruddy, fair-proportioned wo- 
men, is his highest social gratification. This 
lore of the beautiful is by him largely and 
supcrMv c*.prc«ed in many places, end it docs 
one good to read those passages pulsating with 
the pure blood of animal rife. But those as- 
Nciates, thaagh maaly and handsome, help 
bat little to a man's inner appreciation of 
himstsY. Perhaps oar author among hb com- 
rades bad no equal in intellcctaal fores. He 
reigoid triumphantly in an unquestioning cir- 
cle of admirers. How essy, then, to fancy 
one's self a wonderful being! How easy to 
look around mid say, "There are none like 
me here. I am the coming man !" It may 
be said that hooks w ill tench such a man the 
existence of other powerful minds, but this 
wil' not do. Such communion is abstract, and 
lnis but little force. It is only in the actual 
combat of mind striving with mind that 
a man comes properly to estimate him- 
self. Mr. Whitman has grown up in an 

intellectual isolation which has fully developed 
all the eccentricities of his nature. He has made 
some foolish theory that to be rough is to be 
original. Now, external softness of manner is 
in no degree incompatible with muscularity of 
intellect; and one thinks no mere of a man's 
brains for his treading on one's toes without as 
apology, or his swearing in the presence ef wo- 
men. When Mr. Whitman shall have learned 
fhat a proper worship of the individual man 
need not be expressed so as to seem insolence, 
and that men are not to be bullied into receiv- 
ing as a Messiah every man who sneers at them 
in his portrait, and disgusts them in his writ- 
ings, we have no doubt that in seme chastened 
mood of mind he will produce moving and 
pewerful books. We select some passages ex- 
hibiting the different phases of Mr. Whitman's 
character. We do so more readily as, from 
the many indecencies contained in Leaem of 
draft, we do not believe it will find its way 
into many families. 

A ItOPEIT FaoFESBIOH OF rAlTU. 

" Nothing, not God U greater to one than onc's-self is, 
Aud whoever walks a furlong without sympathy, 

walks to his own funeral, 
Drtsfctd in his shroud." 

a ritcm LAKi>w-Ar «. 
" Th<- till hid pool that lies iu the Autumn forest. 
The inooii that descends the steeds of the soughing 

twilight. 
Toss, sparkles of day nnd duSk toae on thejblack 

sten * Hint decay in the muck ; 
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs." 

A TBBTH. 

" I, too, am not a bit tamed. ... I, too, am untransla- 
table: 
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world." 

A nr.ATU-BXTI. 

" When the dull nights are over, and the dull days 

sIfo; 
When tbe soreness of 1} ing so much in bed is over. 
When the physician, after long putting off, gives the 

silent and terrible look for an answer ; 
When tbe children come hurried and weeping, and the 

brothers and sisters have been sent for j 
When medicines stsnd unused oa the sht.hr, and the 

rnmpkoi -smell has pervaded the rooms ; 
Wheu the faithful hand of tbe living does not desert 

the hand of tbe dying. 
When the twitching lips press lightly on the forehead 

of the dying ; 



1856 

When the breath ceases, and tbe pulse of the heart 

ceases ; 
Then the corpse limbs stretch on the b*d,Andthe 

living look upon them. 
They are palpable as the living ore palpable. 
The living look upon the corpse with their eye-sight. 
Cut uithovt (yr-sight linger* a different living and look* 

curiounlyon tht rjrptt." 

IMMOBTAMTT. 
" If maggots and rats ended us, then suspicion, and 

treachery and death. 
Do yon suspect death ? Lf I were to suspect death I 

should die uow. 
Do you think I could walk pleasantly ard well-suited 

towardi annihilation?" 



Pol< «n ■> j ip I tab- Tbe Prog re*- of >I»nnon. 
Im» — A New .Movement. 
Tlie following is publishi-d in sumo of the Utah 
panel* nnd copied by the Tribune, as tin extract from 
n sermon preached l>v llair.nAM Vol no. Sept. -1, K*> : 
* * " * It Is frequently happening that wom-.n 
soy thot they are unhappy. M. u will s ay, •• My wife, 
though u most excellei.t woman, h. is not seen a liappv 
day since I took my second wife." • No, not .» happy 
dry for a year," saj s one ; and ano'.hor has not av»n it 
happy day for flie years. It lsss.il that women are 
tied down nnd abused; that tboy ar. misused and 
have not th» liberty they ought to nave : that m.iny 
oftbem ore wading through a perfect flood of tear*. 
b*canst of the conduct of some men, together with 
th<lr own folly. 

I wish my own women to understand that what I" 
nm going to say Is for them i.s wall as others, nnd I 
won' those who are here to tell their sisters, yes. .ill 
tbe women of this community, and tlieu write It back 
to the States, and do as you please witii it. I am go- 
ing to give you from this' time to the 6Hi day of O to- 
bcr ntxt for reflection, that you may determine 
whether you wish to stay with your husband or not, 
and then I Mm going to set every woman at libertv. 
and say to them, •• Nov.-, gn your way my women with 
thereat:" go yourwae. And my wires have got to 
do one of two things : either roimd lip their soouldsrj 
•o endure the afflictions of this world mid live for 
heir religion, or they may leave, for I will not havo 
htm about me. I will go into tlu.tveu nlime, rather 
than have scrntchiug nuJ fighting around me. 1 will 
set all at lllorty. "What, first wife, too t" Yes, 1 
will liberate you all. 

I know what my women will say ; ther will say : 
"You can have as many women as you please, liaio- 
iiam." Hut I wont to go somewhere and do something 
to get rid of the winners : I do not want them to re- 
ceive a part of the truth and spurn the rest out of 
doors. 

I wish my women, and brother Kimball's, and 
brother Obant's to leave, and every woman In this 
Territory, or else say In their hearts that they will 
embrace the Goapel— the whole of It. Tell the Geotll-s, 
thot I will free every woman in tbis Territory at our 
next conference. " What, tiie first wife, too r " Yes. 
there shall not be one held in boudaf.-e ! all shall Iki set 
free. Awl then let the father be the head of tho fam- 
ily, the master of his own household; and let linn 
treat them as an angel would traat thorn ; and let tne 
wlveaund children sav amen to whit he says, and tie 
subject to his dictate's, instead of their dictating tho 
man — instead of their frying to govern him. 

No doubt some are thinking, '• I wish brother Baio- 
ham would say. whut would become of the children. " 
I will toil you 'what my feellnga aro ; I will let my 
wives take the children, and I havo property en mr'i 
to support thorn, and ran edueato them and then give 
them it good fortune, and 1 can tako a frvsili start. 

I do not desire to k*-»*p a particle: of my property, 
except enough to protect me from a st ite«f undue. 
And I would any, wives you are welcome to my cnll- 
drau. only do not teach them iniquity ; for if you do 
I Will send an elder, or come myself; to teach to.ru 
the gospel. You teach Uiem life aud d.Uvi'nui, or I 
will send alders to Instruct thniu. 

Lat every niou thus treat his wives, keeping raiment 
enough to clothe hts issiy ; ami lay to yn-ir wives. 
" take all that I have and lie set at liberty ; but If you 
alay with me you shall comply with the law of God, 
and that, toe, without any murmuring and whiidng. 
You must fulfill the law of God In every respect, and 
round up your shoulders to walk up t"the mark with- 
out any grunting." 

Now, recollect, that two weeks from to-morrow I 
am going to set you nt liberty. Hut the first wife will 
say, " It Is hard", for I have lived ivitu my hnsbiud 
twenty years, or thirty, aud h:ive raiecd a family of 
children I >r him, and it is a great trial to me for liim 
to have more women ;" then I say It is time that you 
gave blm up to other women who will Iwiar children. 
If my wife had borne me all the children that sheev<r 
would bear, the celestial law would teach me to take 
young women that would have children. 

Do you understand this 1 I have told you many 
time* th»t there are multitudes of pure and holy 
spirits waiting to take tatsirnn. les. Now what is on.' 
duty? To prepare tabernacles for (hem ; to take a 
coufM that will not tend to drive those spirits luto 
the families of the wieked, where they will be tralued 
In wickedness, debauchery and every species of crlmi. 



1856 

It aria* duty of every righteous man and eve <y 
»«)U to prepare tabernacles for nil the spirits thsv 
MB. Bom, (fray women lsare. I will go and«»erih 
up ethers who wtfl abide the celestlsl l»w. nod let all 
I Mvemwnete they V&ease, though 1 will send the 
O iiitl to them. 

Tola is the reason why the doctrine of plurality of 
wives was revealed, that the noble spirit* which are 
waiting for tabernacles might be brought forth. 

If the men of the world were right, or if they were 
anywhere near right, there might not be the necessity 
which there now Is. But they are wholly given up to 
Idolatry, and to all manner of wickedness. 

Do I think that my children will be damned r No, I 
do not, for I am going to fight the devil until I s*v ■ 
them all : I have got my sword ready, and It la a two- 
edged one. I have not a fear about that, for I would 
almost be ashamed of my body If I would beget n child 
that would not abide the law of God, though I may 
have some unruly children. 

I am going to ask you a good many things, and to 
begin with, 1 will ask what is your prayer r Do you 
not ask for the righteous to Increase, while the un- 
righteous shall decrease and dwindle away r Yes, 
that is the prayer of every person thot prays at all. 
The Methodists prav for it, the Baptists pray for it, 
and the Church of England and all the reformers, the 
Shaking Quakers not excepted. And if the women 
belonging to this church will turu Bhaking Quakers, 
I think their sorrows will soon t>e at an end. 

Bisters, I i\m not joking; I do not throw out my 
proposition to banter your feelings, to see whether 
you will leave your husbands, all or any of you. But 
I do know that there is bo ccssatlnu to the everlasting 
winnings of many of the women In this Territory : I 
am satikfled that this is the case. And if the women 
will turn from the commandments of God and con- 
tinue to despise the order of Heavon, I will pray 
that the curse of the Almighty may be close to their 
heels, and that it may be following them all the d iv 
long. Aud those that enter Into it and are faithful. I 
will promise them that they shall be quosns in 
Heaven and rulers to all eternity. 

" But," «ays one, " I want to have my paradise 
now." And says another, '• I did think I should be in 
paradise if I was sealed to Brother naioaaM, and I 
thought I should be happy when I become his wife, 
or Brother Hfjier'h. 1 loved you so much t hit I 
thought I was going to have a hcaveu right off, right 
here on the spot." 

What a curious doctrino It la, that we are preparing 
to enjoy I The only heaven for you is that which you 
make yourselves. My heaven is hero [laying his band 
upon his heart.] I carry It with me. When do 1 ex- 
pect it In its perfection r When I come up lu the res- 
urrection ; than 1 shall have it and not till then. 

But the women come and say, " Really Br. John, 
and Br. William, I thought you were going to mako 
a heaven for me," and they get into trouble l-eeuuse a 
heaven is not made for them by the man, even though 
agency Is upon women as well as upon men. Trie, 
there Is a curse upon the woman that is not upon the 
man. namely, that "her whole affections shall be to- 
wards her husband," and what is the next/ "lie 
shall nils over you. " 

But bow Is it now ? Your desire is to your hus- 
band, hut you strive to rule over him, whereas the 
man should rule over you, 

Some may ask whether that la the caas with me ; 

fo to my house and live, and then you will learn that 
am very kind, but know how to rule. 

If I had only wise men to talk to there would ho no 
necessity for my saying what I am going to say. Many 
and many an elder knows no better than to go home 
and abuse as good a woman as dwells upon this earth, 
because ol what I have said this afternoon. Are you, 
who act In that way, fit to havo a family f No, you 
are not, and ueverwlll bo until you get good common 
sense. 

■ Then you can go to work and magnify your callings ; 
and you* can do the boat you know how ; and on that 
ground I will promise you salvation, but upon no 
other principle. 

If I were talking to a people that understood them- 
selves and the doctrines of the holy Qoepel. there 
would be no necessity for saying tide, because you 
would understand. But many have been (what shall 
I say r pardon me, brethren,) hen-pecked so much 
'hat they do not know the place of either man or wo- 
man : they abuse and rule a good woman with an iron 
hand. With them it is as Solomon said : " Bray a 
fool in a mortar among wheat with a paatle, yet will 
not bis foolishness depart from him." You may talk 
to thorn about their duties, about what Is required of 
tbem, and still they are fools, and will continue to bo. 

Prepare yourselves for two weeks from to-morrow : 
and I will tell you uow that if you tarry with your 
husbands after 1 have set you free, yuu must bow 
down to it and submit yourselves to the celestial law. 
You may go where you pleuaa after two weeks from 
to-morrow ; but remember that 1 will not hear any 
more of this whining. 



The ladies of the Women's Bights Convention 

commenced their se.enth annual meotiug at the 
Tabernacle, yesterday morning. The advertisements, 
by newspapers and otherwise, informed the public 
that Mrs. Locei-tia Mott, Mr. Wciheli PniLLirs, 
Mrs. Llizajietu Jones, Rev. T. W. Hiouinson, 
Mrs. Feamces D. Gage, Rev. Mc. Wasson, Mrs. C. J. 
H. Nicdols of Vermont, Mrs. Ernestine L. Rose 
Rev. Svmtjil J. May, Miss scsak B. Ahthowt, Mrs. 



115 

Lvcy Btoni , ami other speakers, would address the 
Convention during the course of its two day a' session. 
The body of the building was well tilled, and thero 
were sever;.! persons in the galleiies ; but we noticed 
that the audience was composed principally of ladles, 
^nly one Bloomer, as far as v»o perceived, was pre- 
sent, aud she was not ou the platform. 

Mri. Paei.ina Weight Davis, President of the 
Central Committee, called the meeting to order, and 
nominated 1. 1.< y Stcin,- as President of the meeting, 
which nomination being ratlflod by acclamation. Lr. v 
Stone a^ cordiugly took the Chair. On rising to mike 
a few "reliminary . emarks, she said, in effect, that as 
ladies were not accustomed to speak much in public 
assemblies, she had to request tl o,-e present, wh n 
called upon to vote on this or that question, *ho 
adoption of resolutions, Ac, to sp ak out, so that 
their wial..s might be known, and not to utter their 
Ayes and Nays in so subdued a tone that they be- 
came inaudible on the